for Karen Chamberlain
I carry it with me everywhere,
this small wooden elephant
that sat for years on the writing desk
of my friend, a late-night writer,
a peach jam maker, lover of poets.
I have seen the way it makes shy men
smile when they hold it in their palms.
I have heard the voices of women break open
as they share the ache beneath their skin
when the elephant sits on the table
in front of them. I am not saying
the elephant is magic, but trust me,
the elephant is magic. Not the wood itself,
but the belief it carries—that all of us
have a life worthy of our wonder,
all of us have stories for sharing.
When the elephant enters a circle,
each time I rediscover how vast the world
becomes when we listen to each other.