hold fast

Snow was falling silently when the grim news came.
Woman shot, six others dead—
one child.
Tears of sorrow filled our eyes.

Hold fast.

She, younger than I, is lost in a coma.
Lost to her children, lost to her husband,
suspended in some cold inner space
we can never know, nor would want to.
They try to embrace but cannot reach her, not now.
She is somewhere else.

Hold fast.

What about the girl?
Her happy presence replaced by emptiness–
silent and desolate.
A hollowness in her mother and
father’s palms—in the core of their beings.
Memories endure of stroking her lovely
chestnut hair, of her smile,
of tenderly cupping her face in their hands.
Echoes of her sweet voice remain.

Hold fast.

I have my spouse and I have my child,
all touching in our own warm bed,
with my arms wrapped around my boy,
his around my neck, our hearts answering each others'.
His sweet breath brushes my face,
his supple legs curl up as
little feet knead my belly.

I Hold fast.

1 comment:

  1. This is a tragedy almost beyond words -- only Joseph Conrad's, from The Heart of Darkness, come to my mind: The horror, the horror.

    The child's bright eyes in her photo tell you she could have become anything she set her mind to -- Congresswoman, Senator, maybe even President.