After Sorrow Has Settled      

After Sorrow Has Settled        

After sorrow has settled, and the breath 
has become a gentle wind,
you will sit in the dark and count on 
your fingers the day’s blessings.
You will not let a spider cross your eyes, 
nor the moon come singing
far-off sea songs that tug your heart 
like the strings of a colorful kite.

Motherhood assumed your body, 
and strange children came running out.
They played a mystery-game in your backyard.  
Feathers from scared birds
stuck in the thorns of the rose-bushes, 
and the bloody fingers you had to wipe, 
and the knees bandage, 
until your house squeezed them out.

Age and departure have settled in your heart 
and play in your mind.  
You are not starting anything new, 
and now you know you never have begun
a thing though you have spun like a sense clown, 
decked out in duds that toot.
Now you will carry your load of dreams 
in the belly of your pregnant brain

until you can finally sit and have a quiet talk 
with God and tell Him all you
have learned about how to love, 
and He suddenly understands you.