Bottle of Resilience

My bottle of resilience sits quietly

Silent witness on a shadowed shelf

Smudged and worn, it’s not much to behold

Scars and traces of simpler smiles

I’ve uncorked it so many times

Tipping it carefully

For just a few drops of resolve

Or more for a toast or a dare

“You’re going to share that potion, right?” I am asked

“It may not work for you,” I whisper sadly, “but we can try”

“Just a drop would help,” she says

“No one has an elixir like yours”

I pull the cork; they hold out their hand

Cradling the tilted bottle carefully

A starlit tear of indigo rolls out

Reflecting every hope to splash into their palm

And resurrect the dead

But it is not meant to be

The liquid wisps into sand

Its tiny crystals, soft and fading

“I’m sorry,” I whisper

“It’s ok,” she says, closing her hand

“Sometimes grit will do. I will plant it like talents”

I smile at the thought as she turns away

Resilience is coveted, but it lives within—

Distilled by the heat of battles and journeys

Each drop born of chasms, and stars, and storms

And a million fates we’d never choose alone

Contemplating the bottle once more, I pause

Etched with character and mercy, its roadmap is revealed

Imprinted by every patience,

Its waters refilled in the overcoming

Gathering strength from every creative spark

Knowing the bottle is me

—
November 4, 2024
11:49pm

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