Here

Photo by Anne Apple

We are here.

Wordless, 

empty handed, 

but here. 

Holding ohana tenderly, 
   in palms calloused 

      from trying too hard 

         to do the right thing,

      with syllables stretched too thin 
   from trying to speak comfort; 

         elbow-deep in the casseroles 

      of our compassion; 

   neck-deep in  the feebleness

of our words. 

Time passes, grief still crashes

   tsunami-like, crushing retaining walls 

      like empty beer cans; 

         taking out city blocks 

      of structured dreams, 

   leaving you breathless. 

We are here. 

Wordless, 

empty handed, 

but here. 

We'll camp with you 

   under a starry canopy; 

      listening to the stories 

         of dreams washed out to sea;

      help you dig 'til you find 

   something to stand on; 

      sit in your empty foundation 

         'til you're ready 

      to reconstruct hope above ground. 

We are here. 

Wordless, 

empty handed, 

but here. 

         We're here to be batteries 

      for your heartlamp, 

   when the Easter bulb 

      is ready to shine light

into darkness again. 

© 2016 Todd Jenkins