by Piper Lauri Salogga Witness the little one, girl, the one with pigtails, sweet and small. Weeping, her knowing that she must fall for another to feel strong, the one that she depended on. Weeping, this one,the mother too, her own destruction the clue, and those before her, generations back, all trying to ridthe past, be free, live the life of dreams; queens inside their heads. But the heart,

the center that beats the rhythm, the pulse of us all, is buried alive, lost in the fall?

Oh Heart, tender to call, whisper thy gentle love, nurturing, the cradle to crawl in, to be held, to be held and caressed, its glistening tenderness. Yes. Great hearts hold the expectation, incubation growing through the belly of the Unconditional, soul.

And even while persistence threatens, tugging, the human story pulling us under, inane lot, every thinking mind clinging to the known – oh, loathe this pattern, timing thrown – pause, breathe, remember…

pigtails whispers, barely to hear, “I just want to be love.”