Red rust covers
her soul’s mirror.
Yet some light shines through.
Why call immediately
for the polishing cloth?
Does not love still exist in rust?
This rust is heart’s blood spilled,
the only remaining witness
to a child’s incomprehensible loss.
Don’t invoke God or
His Divine Plan
too quickly.
Let her cry!
Let hot tears fall.
Let her body shake.
Let lament shriek from her throat.
Let the sound rise and fall.
Let it all come.
Don’t offer Kleenex.
Just hold her in your arms.
Let her grief bless you.
If she’s lucky, if you are lucky,
new life will emerge from the fragments—
a flower, never before seen.
You find such a fragment now,
that seed in your pocket.
It has waited all this time to be seen.
Give her the seed.
Let her plant it
in the emptiness.
The flower will bloom deep scarlet,
fragrant, wise, and beautiful,
full of the Beloved’s Light.