Sorrow’s Home

There is a sorrow
that grows
as we open
to Life.

Not the dark web
of sticky unmet matters
hiding in the hips,
holding
to the ribs
of our life-force.
Not the secret loneliness
of shallow breath
and fancy thoughts.
Not even the blatant ache
of longing
to be held
in the deepest, safest waters
of true love.

No, this Sorrow
of which I write,
to which I bow
with humble palms together,
is open
like wisdom is generous,
is clear-seeing and kind.
It has no want
for its own resolution.
It has no want
to be tamed or fixed or freed.

It’s been born
of what has broken us.
It is our death
coming now
slowly or quickly
to claim us
and everyone we love.
It is the grief that learns
to live with us,
in this place called Life.
There is no other place
for it to go, so finally
we are gracious: we say,
“Please, it’s fine. Stay awhile.”

There is a Sorrow
that grows us
as we open to Life,
as we open to love and beloved;
as we give
our singing hearts
to song, our sweat
to prayer, as we touch
the tender pulse of loss,
upon loss, upon loss.

Life is not for keeping.
No wish and no bone
will last. But to make a good
home for this Sorrow
while walking and washing,
waking and dreaming,
while laughing and lifting
the sun, one more day, for Love:
This is a true life loosened,
a true life learned,
a true life offered
to all that comes
and goes
and comes again.

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4 thoughts on “Sorrow’s Home

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