It has been some time (2 years!) since I have posted on this blog and I thought it might be fun to begin again, as I’m sure many lapsed bloggers do at this time of year. Hello again to anyone who might still be out there, at the other end of this post. I hope this finds you well and still enjoying poetry 🙂 This piece was inspired during a 2 week online writing group with the supreme writing promptress and beautiful poet, Jena Schwartz.
I will hold out my hand for yours
resolute and relentless,
for the one in a thousand times
you now reciprocate in kind.
I will hold the always, already, possibility
of you, especially in relation
to your fluctuating belief
in the impossibility of everything.
I will hold space for you, here,
on the red sofa next to me, where,
at the end of a long and distracted day
you might want to unfurl, to curl
your long, warm body into mine,
for that brief and glorious
moment in time.
I will hold space for you
in the imaginings of the world and
the wonder it may bring you.
I will hold my tongue when
your words are cutting, as you
necessarily cut yourself free, loose,
from the bloody cord that made us one.
I will hold you to account
for kindness and love
in your truth telling mantras.
I will hold my own fragile heart
with gentleness and care,
as it endures your leaving
to find your ground to sow
on this immense and eager earth.
I will hold your disappointment,
failure and fear. But only
in wholeness with your hope,
success, and courage, as they all bud
from the same shoots, as surely
as winter turns to spring and
the sun gives way
to the light of a new moon.
And I will hold my own,
in my imperfect parenting,
in the inevitability that I will fail
to do this crazy thing
as well as I had hoped.
I will hold my salty tears of failing
with my harshness and tuning out
once too often and
being present never long enough
all with the gentle compassion of
the vision of a mother
I wished I might have been.
And I will hold a light that illuminates
the path strewn with fairy lights and
paper lanterns and rainbow coloured
welcome home paintings.
You will find me there,
at the end of the path
in the house, or in the field
with the bluebells and snowdrops,
the daffodils and tulips, reading
Mary Oliver or David Whyte
living, waiting and watching you,
living your one wild and precious life.