Oh, heart of mine,
were you beating in another’s chest
the words would come easy…
Be gentle, try to rest.
It’s ok to just be.
But beneath my own ribs
those tender words are slow to form.
It’s why we need each other
when grief moves in
with its demands and poor timing.
The gentle reminders outside of ourselves
that grief comes because of love, not in spite of it.
Until slowly, we recall that this heaviness we feel,
this ache of sadness and weariness of bone,
is something we would never choose to live without.
A far lesser price than hardening ourselves
against the beauty this world offers.
When so many are hurting as our country bares its teeth,
it takes Wild courage to keep caring,
trusting our hearts will break open, and not apart.
When you are able, only when you are able,
be that voice that whispers to another
the truth of it:
That this breaking open
is our strength.
That grief is not to be avoided
but to be tended when it comes.
Held by others who also still dare to love.
Who also still dare to see.
