Thursday, April 7, 2016

sometimes there are no words

sometimes the air is thinly keening

we make an offering
of silence

we do not know how to embrace
our lack


i have three children, she said:
hope and loss.

well, that’s that, then.

what can be said now
that doesn’t ring hollow?


i would take you into my arms
and grasp at the emptiness

i would whisper that all will be well
and all would be well

the choices we make when we speak
of absence.


how we long for someone
to enter our pain

how we are still learning what it means
to mourn

how we mistake complaints
as a form of sharing