At Least

At Least

“No. Let me have this dust,

These pale clouds dourly lingering, these words”

-Adrienne Rich

Pain and grief are such strangely strong

Bedfellows

The seeds are planted and watered with salt

Dug down deep in rich soil, made of things quite dead

The stories stay swirling

Although you try to drop them

Skip them across the swollen stream

They find their way, boomeranging back to your bedside

When you thought you were alone

Thirsting for the sound of something less sour, perhaps

Your own heart’s song

But she trembles, you

tremble

You, whose professed super power is love

Have a voice that trembles as she sings for you

It’s true

I have read that the work we do

Is empty

Unless there is love

And I have read of the perils

of attachment. So

How is there love

Without attaching?

I’m learning that the letting go isn’t

A release of love

Is not a release of Hope

Or of carefully defined ties

But of

Expectations

It is a release of ever thinking

Our growth

With grow another along side us

The bravest of dreamers crumble

At the thought of this

This release of hoping we can

Heal

Someone special

We watch them cauterize their hearts

To prevent that familiar pain

From coming back again

And also prevent the gifts

We must welcome most

The unwelcomed guest

I see things

Know them

FEEL them

And fail to live them

Just as you do. All things

Die

End

Leave

And still I see

The power

In seeing, trying, touching

I see the power of hope.  Let me have that, at least.

At least there is that.