How Sorrow Touched Your Life

Tender. Raw. Life wrapped you
in a blanket of welcoming.
"Feel this," She said.
The senses helping ground
your incarnation.
The noises, no longer muffled,
now pinging your eardrums
with sharpness and clarity.
The constant heartbeat replaced
by a symphony of too much.
Soothing voices and softness
were preferred.

Was the blanket warm and soft?
Or did small balls of scratchiness
roughen the swaddle?
Vague visions of new came in and out
of focus as your eyes adjusted to form.

Did you savor the sweetness of colostrum?
Or did the fabricated mixture of
trying-to-be-milk coat your tongue?
Your tiny nostrils carried air and
scents; some sweet, some foul.
All part of Life on Earth.

Was leaving the womb your first
meeting of sorrow?

I wonder how welcomed you felt?
The hidden story - fairly confirmed
by Ancestry - is that your biological
father was not your mother's husband.
I wonder if only she knew?
Did you sense her shame,
sorrow or fear?
Did resentment interfere with her
mothering of you, or the succession
of siblings to follow?

When did sorrow and survival kick in?
Your childhood stories
are haunting, at best.
My sense is sorrow had to take a
back seat, tucked away till you could
afford the breathing room to process it.
A tablespoon at a time.

The barrage of injustices turned to rage
forging a strength that defined you,
allowed you to move toward transformation.

Body and heart damaged, you landed
safely in your mind, devouring books
of escape and possibility.
Fantasies, teachings, hopes
filled the hours.
Nose to page, no one noticed
you were practically blind.

Your teen years brought you glasses,
sharper visions, a husband, and me.
Yet you still carried the burden
of saving your siblings.
And you tried.
​
You actually wanted to save the world.
Feminism, anti-racism, human rights
became your unshakeable conviction.
Activism your way.
Healing injustices, your innermost need.
In efforts to transform all of it,
you touched Life because of your sorrow.