The Water Bearer

My load wasn't heavy, but I carried it with content.

The season had changed, the markings of summer's death crinkling under my brown feet.

My vase was painted by my mother with doves and cardinals entangled in flight.

My vase was molded by my grandmother, faith and hardship pressed into the sides.

Inside was water that reflected the violets of the sky.

Water of your hopes, your pain, your mistakes, your judgement, your joy.

I carried you and poured myself into you until my vase and empty and I stood alone on the shore.

The waves cascaded in a different direction.

I didn't call out to you.

I had walked on.

Feet leaving sand.

The air within and without became endless.

My body unraveled.

Brown skin melted into vapor.

Then I was nothing and everything.

I ended where I began.