Didn't our world begin with a Fall?
Will it not end in precise risen glory?
The moon doesn't wax and wane,
she wanes and waxes, ending
with glorious light before starting anew.
A victorious overture, a fresh restoration.
As I hold you in the dark and marvel
at your tiny fingers
I find myself
counting your breaths and repeating simply
We: are alive.
You: are alive.
I: am alive.
Deep in my chest, it feels right
that life is our mother, who counts our breaths
in the same way, taking note
of our sometimes ragged exhales
but knowing the majesty the next inhale brings.
She breathes along with us to calm our hearts.
That's what mothers do.
God's miracle for us is breath.
His love is our Fall and Rise.
This is what I pray to him:
Let my contribution be clean.
Let my breath ameliorate.
Let my life end on an inhale.
It can be tricky to include vulnerability in my poetry, but it was refreshing this time to open up and speak candidly from my heart. However, it still took a lot of effort. Do you have any tips or tricks about quickly tapping in to that vulnerable and sensitive side?