Forty

the girl inside a woman’s skin

too young to have her praises sung

by any choir, too young to walk the wire

of motherhood alone, and yet

here she stands, amid the stones and sticks

of all the words thrown in her way

the things nobody knew to say

and so the silence sings

of all the things she never thought were real,

revealed

 

the microphone is held by a child afraid to sing

who knows the thing that makes her unique

is the thing she’s afraid to speak

 

how does time mark its stanzas on your body?

with the indelible ink of motherhood and memories

a heartbeat tattoo

 

abracadabra

that which we speak becomes life

 

what will I whisper into being

with the breath of my words

from the depth of my soul?

how to choose the words

to turn a living into a life?

how to sing the praise of the days yet to come

believing the fun is where the living lies

 

I want a life where I am not afraid

to feel the pleasure or the pain

to hear the rain and

feel the rays of the sun

because I know there can be no healing without pain

there can be no courage without fear

 

perfection is a crutch

that bears no weight,

the straight and narrow path

a myth in which we place our faith

to the peril of our hopes and dreams –

it seems more real than all our fears,

but if I have learned one thing in forty years

it is that the way is wide and winding,

and we are specially designed to wander.

 

I want that wonder

the constant pulse of presence

just beyond my conscious sense

untouchable, yet certain

if only I inhabit present tense

 

this is how I grow

by reaching into space, into the flow of grace

the joy of the unknowing

showing me the way

 

listen to the call of life within

this is where I begin.