I still visit grief’s wounds from time to time,
rubbing scars that feel like they still might have some healing to do.
We’re all there,
serenaded by the momentous serpent of living and dying.
You were tiny beings then,
us struggling beside you to find our way as parents,
while Mommas body grew heavier,
settling ever downward.
I never lost sight of either of your faces,
food going into your mouths,
grins riding a collection of half broken bikes and trikes and wagons
down our dirt road with a pack of neighborhood kids.
As I tend my scars I can feel that day so easily,
the house bursting with your laughter wrapped in jasmine breeze,
the gift of dappled light resting with us even as her life began its ending,
moments made indelible to my soul.
We didn’t come here to tread lightly or be wrapped in cellophane bubbles.
We came to journey together,
making rafts of ourselves for each other,
so we can all travel to I don’t know where together.
