I vigorously sweep away the dust
You wash up all the dishes from last night
The birthday candle wishes are blown out
Known only in the mind of the small child

What can this small one wish for anyway?
Can ponies and balloons bring back what’s lost?
I try to tell you all that’s on my mind
You tell me all the things I should have done

I finish wiping down the counter top
You empty out the basin in the sink
And tap the drain catch gunk into the trash
I try to throw the blame right back at you

You huff away and slam both of the doors
I make a silent wish on her behalf

There are cracks on the sidewalk in Pietermaritzburg
In the spot where we met.
I type the street name into Google Earth.
Magically zooming out, crossing the ocean
And focusing in, I can’t see the cracks
Where fragments of gravel from our soles once fell.
I know they’re still there.

There’s a fallen tree in Honesdale, PA
Where we sat together the day before we married
And witnessed all that was variegated and green and good
on the road before us.
I imagine Its woody fibers
Are now one with the soil.
I know it’s still there.

There’s a Ford 150 van with brown leather seats
Where we buckled car seats and dialed the radio daily,
And occasionally adventured into wild places
with our camping gear loaded in the back.
It’s likely rusting
Standing in some junkyard.
I know it’s still there.

There’s a bike path by the Connecticut River
Where you held the back of bike seats, running alongside as brown legs vigorously peddled,
Letting go at just the right moment,
And stopping only to explore some hidden gem of the natural world.
Those brown legs have grown tall,
Venturing out into the world.
That path is still there.

There’s a patch of earth we’ve cultivated
Tilling, planting, watering, weeding
And harvesting God’s grace in all colors, shapes and sizes
I’m not sure why we keep arguing about who has toiled more through the years.
It’s still right there in our backyard
Where fragments from our souls have fallen.
It will be here still, after we leave.

Take a quick breath as you push away stinging tendrils of mental ruminations

Reach for the floor with your dangling leg

Tiptoe downstairs

The familiar sound of the refrigerator door will comfort you

Fill a glass with water and tiptoe back upstairs

Set it carefully on the bedside table

Bury yourself in blankets leaning your body up on your elbow

No higher than 45 degrees

Reach for the glass and

Drink in

Hope

For a better day tomorrow

Set the glass down again, this time not as carefully

Sink down into the blankets

Take a quick breath and slowly exhale thoughts

of all that remains broken

The last day of March
Rain turns to crisp setting sun
I await sunrise

source of secret longing
yet unknown to even me
now you are revealed

Hiding within
your fleshy cocoon,
you enter every door
before me.

Weeks counted,
imaged in sound,
centimeters dividing
your widening entrance.

Snow melting,
green grass
whispering your name,
the vernal earth awaits.

Oxygen molecules
hover anticipating
inhalation of
your first breath.

Bearing down,
harsh lights looking on,
soft breasts
seek you.

This world
calling forth,
can resist you
no longer.

To praise
the very vibration that resonates,
often unheard,
in each movement
of your creation,
that is my purpose

So
I’ll trust
that you spoke me
into life,
what a gift
beyond human words

This flesh
crying liquid tears
full of earthly salt
is a small thing
next to your almighty voice
ringing in my soul.