To my heroine

Her name was the Word Woman. 

She didn't rescue me from a burning building, 

nor return my stolen purse, 

heck, she didn't even bring my cat back; 

but she saved me alright. 

It happened in the kitchen; 

I was shredding carrots at full speed, 

chopping garlic, crushing lentils, 

forgetting about love. 

I was about to pull out the cumin 

when she smacked a poem right into my ears, 

and with a few lines, my eyes lit and I burst into laughter. 

I don't recall turning off the heat of the stove, 

but I do remember bending out of the pang 

only a belly laugh can bring. 

I remember how naturally, 

the laughs transitioned into wails, and how the tears 

gushed out the pain, joy, and longing. 

It felt as if I was being shoved out of the road 

before a car was about to hit me, 

only to be carried to my garden's window

to admire the white blossoms swaying quietly,

on the unusually warm winter breeze. 

The lemon tree was bathed in the last rays of the sun, 

a swarm of bees was posing swiftly but softly on the buds, 

packing pollen into their baskets, 

extracting every drop of the sweet sweet nectar 

while their tiny legs assisted flowers to bear fruit. 

I was met by life; beauty pouring through all my senses. 

Motionless, I felt my heart expanding at every beat. 

Her words, the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation technique, 

opened my lungs unhurriedly. Her voice, 

the balm placed gently over the wounds in my chest, 

slipped right into my soul.