It’s not within my power
to replay the lost years--
the times your wondered how to reach in
and tug at the hem of my attention.
When my father’s death threw me
against the white-hot wall of loss,
I backed away, beyond the edge of feeling,
numb, cut off.
While curled up inside that void
I never lost sight of your glow
that lay beyond the sheet of fire.
When you cried out for me,
beat your fists against my deafness,
I heard your pounding needs--
the tapping, signing of your hungry hearts.
Your light spread strength into the void;
your army of tiny fingers grasped
the heart of my womb, pulled me out of
the ocean of emptiness.
It’s not within my power
to remove the lines that trace your hearts.
I can only urge
that you grow around them.
It never helps to hide your losses;
they’ll eat their way back out.
Allow the flames to burn through
to the other side of pain.
Each loss will leave a scar
that strengthens, with each new layer,
protection against that first and deepest wound-
measure of every hurt
that stitches together life’s pattern.
So, embrace life, my children,
sunlight and shadows.
Listen to the voice that speaks only to you--
as it screams, whispers
or signs against your hearts.
Copyright © 1987 Pam Patterson
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