There are moments in time when everything grinds to a halt, when we sit back – reeling, shocked, stunned. Today is one of those days. There are no sufficient explanations, no pat answers, no consoling prayers. Only palpable grief and gritty rawness when forced to bear something too hard and too much.
Often the words of another – composed in their own grief and tragedy – shape, frame, and articulate what we cannot. We need them; we need anything that will allow us to somehow go on, move forward, and keep our hearts alive.
A Pretty Song
From the complications of loving you
I think there is no end or return.
No answer, no coming out of it.
Which is the only way to love, isn’t it?
This isn’t a playground, this is
earth, our heaven, for a while.
Therefore I have given precedence
to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods
that hold you in the center of my world.
And I say to my body: grow thinner still.
And I say to my fingers, type me a pretty song,
And I say to my heart: rave on.
It is hard to say; harder yet to do. And still, “…I say to my heart: rave on.”
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