Their Love

Like the moonrise

they brightened my earth.

They showered my darkness.

All the little seeds I’d planted

of love and waiting,

they shined on.

They watered my garden

of lilies and willows

and bloomed them into more.

Giving. All they did was give.

They gave me their smiles

with open arms,

and they excused my absence.

They told me I was enough.

They nurtured me back to whole

and gave me the best gift:

they gave me themselves.

And in my garden

where I kept my loved ones

to spark like wildflowers,

where I was kept as a wallflower,

they took me and placed me

in the midst of it all.

They took my gloom

and reminded me

that this kind of love was enough.

And after time,

it became a shower of light.

You would never have known

it was night.

Psalm 136:9

Resilient no. 2

But then the tightness begins to loosen

with every day, subtly. Slowly.

A smile becomes fuller,

for all types of love

come and fill my heart again:

My grandmother, a good run.

The ocean, my happy cousins.

With each new day and sun

I begin to remember the good.

Because knowing that this thing finally 

gets shined on, burns, and dies,

renews and grows

and you survive

is enough.


Let me take you to my garden.

Let me take you to where I bloom.

Where my little patch of earth

of ocean and mountains, bright in hue,

can sing a song in the light of the moon.

Whether day, whether night,

it is where you’ll find me,

kept safe in loving, helpful harmony.

Please know that there is more

than what you’ve seen—


In your garden, I became a wallflower.

But in mine, you consumed the wildflowers.