Milk and Honey

The section begins with the speaker still clinging to past maladaptive modes of coping, blaming herself for her experiences “cause i am paying for sins I don’t remember” (139). This keeps her from expecting more of, and for, herself. The rest of “The Healing” shows the speaker dismantling this idea for herself and for other women, all of whom deserve respect and kindness.

The first aspect of the speaker’s healing is finding wholeness without a partner. After “accept[ing] you deserve more / than painful love” (143), the speaker acts in self-protection: “the healthiest thing / for your heart is / to move with [life]” (143). Soon, the speaker is no longer looking for a lover to return and complete her. Before, she was “co-depending / on people to / make up for what / [I] lack[ed]” (146); now, she realizes that she can’t look for healing from the people who hurt her but must find it within herself, instead. She moves toward gratitude for her life and appreciation that she has the strength to “remain kind / in cruel situations” (152). 

As the spell of co-dependency breaks, formerly important male figures lose their power over the speaker. When one apologizes, his remorse “is neither wanted nor needed” (155) for her newfound independence. At the same time, the speaker for the first time finds community with others who have experienced emotional hardship. The speaker interprets her growth as the result of her suffering; she urges readers to similarly take “pain / [and] grow flowers from it” (150). 

The speaker now stands up for herself in situations she would not have previously. When a new lover tells her she is “not like most girls” (156), she balks at his backhanded praise. This seeming compliment that is actually an insult to “most girls” makes her “want to spit your tongue out” (156), a violent image that shows the speaker’s growing self-confidence and assertiveness. This time, it is she who threatens to silence another, rather than accepting being silenced. Similarly, when a man points out her legs are too hairy, she is comfortable retorting that her “body / is not his home / he is a guest” (157). Hair becomes a symbol of autonomy in later poems, when she insists hair removal is a woman’s choice. 

The speaker admires the diversity of other women, many of whom also go through periods of great pain: In particular, “women of color” whose backs “tell stories / no books have / the spine to / carry” (163). Pride flows through the speaker as she remarks on how remarkable, “resilient / and striking” (183) women are, “how capable we are of feeling / how unafraid we are of breaking / and tend to our wounds with grace” (163). This understanding of women’s depths makes the speaker feel shame for her previous shallowness: She apologizes to women she called “pretty / before I’ve called them intelligent or brave”—“you are so much more” (171).

This new attitude of broad-reaching female triumph charges the speaker’s desire to reach out to others. She feels a duty to “serve the sisterhood” (176). Repeating the imagery of blossoms coming from pain that has prompted productive introspection, the speaker wishes for “women helping women / like flowers ache for spring” (179). Here, the internal change she noted in herself becomes external as the flowers result not from self-improvement but from “seva (selfless service)” (195) that makes “gold out of [pain]” (177). The speaker, here identified as Kaur herself, hopes that her literary success will give her the opportunity to “gain / enough milk and honey / to help those around / [her] succeed” (191). 

In this spirit of gratitude and service, the speaker closes the book with a “thank you” (196) to readers for “forc[ing] me to write / at a time I was sure I / could not write again” (196). The collection is thus circular: She starts the collection believing that writing will heal her heart, chronicles her growth from hurting to healing, and ends triumphant and whole as she predicted.