Posts Tagged ‘child’

There is nothing you can fix.
The only thing to do is love her.
Tomorrow, next week,
there might be laundry.
Or mail. Or a meal.
Or a phone call
when she will need for you
to be near her
when she tells the other person
her child is dead.
Hold her hand, or,
if she needs space,
don’t hold it.
Say her name.
Say the name of her child.
Walk with her, or sit still.
Pray for her when you’re not with her,
even if she doesn’t pray,
even if you don’t know how,
even if the words
feel like foreign objects in your mouth.
Light a candle.
Give her your heart.
it’s the only thing that matters,
though it will not ease her
nor help her sleep
nor solve a damn thing.
Though there is no hope
you can make things right.
Though she may push you away.
Though anything you do
will be woefully insufficient, love her.
With your whole being, love her.
It will not be enough.
It is the only thing.  
Tell her, if you can, you love her.
But if you can’t,
just love her.
Just love her.

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My child, I say, you need not fear the night—

its unlit corners, rooms of dim unknown—

the darkness helps us learn beyond the light.


But mom, how do I know that you’re alright

if I can’t see you? I feel so alone.

My child, I say, there’s goodness in the night.


The dark erases any lines we might

have drawn, makes all the world appear as one.

The dark helps us to see beyond the light.


But mom, I don’t feel safe without my sight.

What if there’s monsters, spiders, things that groan?

My child, I say, there’s kindness in the night.


You feel how darkness holds the whole world tight?

Embracing every human, creature, stone—

the darkness helps us reach beyond the light.


It hugs us all, despite our wrongs, our rights,

inviting everyone into its home.

My child, I say, you need not fear the night—

the darkness helps us love beyond the light.

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