In our afternoon-
separated by a half a room-
We are roped into a
slice of eternity.
In my imaginings,
I sense the wrappings
and coils of infinity.
The sensation- more binding
And I do not know anything…
And my thoughts fail me…
And I wonder one too many ideas…
Do you need me to reach?
Or will movement induce
ripples for which you are ill-prepared?
Your pain weighs and grounds
us and I fear, oh, I fear,
that I may send it all toppling
down onto us.
I freeze- Medusa, in reverse-
my features set in stone-
in a pose I imagine to be
warm and welcoming.
We do not move closer,
we do not move further,
but the weaving begins.
Your pain, my solace; my former
pain, lending you a point of
I want to help but instead I pray-
reverently-although I know it is wrong
and Fate will refuse to bend and bow
to my sacrificial will.
I want to take on your pain- you
are so young, my sweet, little one-
much that you do not know –
here, I sit, mirroring you, so you
understand that you are seen and you are heard.
Even when you feel no one else notices.
For today, even having one, will be enough.
I hope to God it is enough.
Part of the poem certainly deals with being a stepparent to a child in pain due to a biological parent. How much do you help? What lines are there for you to cross or not cross? On days like this, I hope my being witness and support is enough for her or for anyone in pain, for that matter.