By writingdianet on January 14, 2011
Here it is again
Ginormous spans of time and distance
Echo in the gap between us
How is it I am not mad with grief and fear?
It’s because I was shot
The last time you left on a jet plane
I was shot to the heart
Your arrival, your joy, your return
They still run through me
Like the waterfall you stood under
Eternal it seemed
Did you hear it?
Over the age old rush
Of hydrogen, oxygen, and gravity?
“This is my daughter.
Whom I love
With her I am well pleased.”
You are a modern day Mary.
You bore her, raised her, and when the time was fulfilled
You balanced her life and your punctured heart In your trembling mama hands
Dripping with tears
You offered her as a live sacrifice
To me, to the world
Blessed are the hands that are open, not clenched
Palms without fingernail-shaped wounds
The what ifs and will I ever
(Inhale her Pantene twirls again)
Didn’t present until 24 hours out this time
Burning eye syndrome, leaky gutter nose, shovel scrapes in the belly
They’ve only just now come
To be honest, on the pain scale, they’re a scant three or four
And then, only if I shut out everything else
Attend the guttural jeer of she’s leaving you
For another mother
A different family
I flip my hair and anxiety, albeit lesser,
Where I can’t see it
I almost yell at the mirror
You’re shot, remember?
It can’t hurt you
The unblessed absence of assurance
Faith exists only in the invisible
Sight and knowing?
Where is the thrill, the miracle, the mountain top, in that?
I have to
But at least I can
‘Cause I’ve been shot
One bout with loss, fear, and the unknown
(Then reunion and recovery)
Left me so much stronger
Able, if not ready
(And really, when will I ever be ready?)
To do it all again
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