Liz Caswell

Her two tiny hands wrapped around 
a freshly plucked,
enormously plump 
tomato

Innocent eyes widened with anticipation
awaiting the burst of flavors

Years and years later
She ask if she's playing too small 

How can her grasps grow big enough to hold it all?
The colors and contrasts so vast
she can feel decapacitated, 
searching for a path to safety 
where no fingers need to clasp away,
where food, family, and freedom
aren't clenched too tightly or pried from clenched fist 

Listening to living libraries of beloved authors or partners
she was given a generous vision for the good of others,
she discovered a trust for herself,
hand over heart, 
palms cupping life, 
to sweetly drink in,
to deeply swim in, 
the waters of enoughness 

A gentle embrace
of tender grace
opening space  
to hold more in her hands
and offer it out.