Poem: Change

Change arrives with quiet feet,
rearranging rooms inside the heart.
It asks us to loosen our grip
on names we gave to who we were.

Some days it feels like winter—
branches stripped bare against the sky,
every familiar thing made distant,
every comfort learning how to leave.

We resist because memory is warm.
Because certainty tastes like home.
Because becoming someone new
means mourning someone old.

But slowly, almost secretly,
the frozen ground begins to soften.
The trees do not apologize for blooming.
The river does not ask permission to turn.

And one morning, without noticing when,
you stand in a life once unimaginable
and realize the ache of changing
was also the beginning of growing.

Thank-you for reading.

Brenda Marie