My body, thank you for carrying this ache,
for carrying it not like a burden, but like a baby—
like a gift, like something that will
change you and keep changing you forever.
Of course, you would want to shut down,
to close, to contract,
but I see how the grief grows you.
Though it shreds your sleep,
though it drops you to the floor,
you learn what it is to be a mother.
Through no effort of your own,
you are on board for a miracle.
So big, this invitation to love. Oh body,
you would never ask for this, and yet
you meet this grief every moment.
You find inner doors you never knew were there
and you swing them open, not to rid yourself
of the ache, but to grant it full access,
to know the grief completely,
to let it rewrite you, remake you, rebirth you,
to let it teach you what it means
be alive.