Before the sadness comes the shock,
like snow falling on sunflowers,
like nightfall at noon. And then
the tears catch up. And then
the wondering, What could I have done?
The urge to hold her now that I cannot.
The ache to hold her daughter, to hold
her son the way that she once held
my children when they were young.
What is there to do now but cradle
each other, to cry, to recover, and again
to shudder, to cry. To say to each other
that this day it hurts to be alive.
To notice that despite grief,
the larkspur are in full blue.
The river curls notes around the rocks.
The bees immerse their bodies
in snapdragon blooms.
How it’s never been more important
to know this—that the world
is beautiful. That even as we’re held
by tragedy, here is tenderness.
Here, always waiting to be opened,
the invitation to love.