Freedom doesn’t come
In an instant.
It doesn’t come
Like a reality show
makeover
It comes slowly.
One chain link breaks
after another
One burden removed at a
time
Unsteady and slow.
Miraculously healing
The starved soul.
One painful conversation
Steeped in prayer
Brings a moment of joy.
To later be reminded
Of a bigger scar
A wound carved deep.
The rain just keeps
drizzling.
Dripping relentlessly.
Agonizingly eroding.
Saturating this cracked
ground.
Drip
Drip
Drip.
These flood waters
Are here like snails
With leaden feet.
The floods run deep.
Uniting with a spring
In the depths of the
soul.
Not stretching apart.
But stitching together.
These flood waters
Knit together with the
spring
Form a new path
Washing these wounds.
Saturating and
cleansing.
Freedom doesn’t come
In an instant.
It comes in a drizzle.
A slow drip.
Joanna Marshall studies math education at Purdue; she enjoys snapping photographs, chatting in Spanish, and poeting in her spare time. Check out more or her work at her website, poetryandphotographybyjo.weebly.com, or follow her on Instagram @someone.gave.me.a.camera.
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