You Are Broken and You Are Whole

This morning
you are shining blonde hair,
full belly laughing,
a field of glow.
My heart falls into place.

I remember you
clutching your belly
on the cold tile floor
in the Boston hotel,
writhing
burning
silent screams.
You needed me
to stay back.
I have never felt so helpless.

Disease is a cauldron,
boils us to the core,
disrupts
dismantles
strips layers of seeming safety.
Disease keeps us in not knowing,
stretches us beyond
where we think we can go.
Forges us in its heat.
Transforms.
Humbles.

You tend to this wisely
in your quiet ways.
Grace is known to you.
Pain and fire,
the teachers that
turn you towards
the Sacred.

I do not know
all the ways of your mind
or see all the times
you fall to your knees.
Yet it is clear today
by your restful smile
that you are watering
holy seeds
and sit, cupped,
in the hands of the Universe.


Selected poems from Subterranean Light

Contemplations | The Way | You Are Broken and You Are Whole | Quiet | How to Find Poems