Speech is a prank of Parliament,
Tears a trick of the nerve, –
But the heart with the heaviest freight on
Doesn't always swerve.
~Emily Dickinson
When my hands were small
I could not hold the heaviness of many truths
although my heart could carry every loss like a fire fighter
leaving a burning building with lives to save
still I wanted to
know what lied ahead
I wanted answers to every question
to know why God was everywhere
and my mother could not be found
uncertainty leaves a certain ache
not knowing the next move
nor what will happen next
has a way of moving us all
one way or another
like pain can lead a
man to drink
and yet love can do the same
I have come to know that there is movement in all things
in the gift of joy and the loss of grief
a bird swiftly flies to a higher branch
yet his feathers
slowly fall
each moving somewhere different than where they began
my hands have grown with time and callus
and I have held the heaviness of knowing many things
and still there are many questions
even though my heart has learned to hold too much
like a bishop holds
the sacrament
and a knight his mighty longsword
bravery only moves forward
and love is always brave.
