Good morning, sweet kitty
your smiles and trills melt me
open heart greets the day.

Good morning, Love
still sleeping softly
red beard, even breaths.

Good morning, Cardinal
I hear your bright song
bright as your wings.

Good morning, Sun
it’s your day
and what a day!
Eleanor’s last post … Swimming back to Bodh Gaya

This poem really touched me. We all have scars of one type or another, so the specificity of the story you tell of your grandson enrich the universality of our shared experience.

I particularly appreciated these lines:

“to caress another

What a compelling poem. I particularly like the image of “…you have taken the tender/ bamboo of their hearts and boiled it into/ broth…”

Thank you for these poetry Sundays! (Even on Saturday.)

A warrior’s cloak
torn, ripped and bloody
a symbol of will
a sign of desire
from deep within your soul

To conquer
to vanquish
to feel
to love
to have joy not yet imaginable
to caress another’s ragged coat of life
with the tender touch of one who knows.

You bear the scars of a
life deeply fought for.
There is no denying you
covet this gift of life.

Raised red lines of healing
wind their way
around
your beautiful newborn body

Feel the truth of these wounds.
They tell all of your
maniacal will to live and the
Grace of your journey.

(I wrote this poem after experiencing my grandson’s birth, the very painful events that followed his birth and his subsequent 3-mo stay in NeoNatal ICU. It is truly a miracle he is alive. He is now 9 years old.
Julie Daley’s last post … No More Silence