Holding On

Holding On 

Mother, give me pockets
deep enough to hold fear and grief
so my hands are free for living when
death comes like a thief in the night
to carry away pieces of my heart.

Sometimes it leaves clever forgeries
with a spark of soul or a breath of feeling.
The synthetic diamond, the depthless sculpture,
the falseness that sends my spirit reeling
until memories become jaded
and all the worlds collide.

Please help me to remember that your body
and mine are one and the same;
that as you now hold their bones
I will hold them, whole, once again
in other worlds and times and places
with the gentle strength of stone.

Mother keep me mindful…
the first line of my daily prayer
cast upon the ley lines
between earth and water, fire and air.
A breadcrumb trail, a marker
that helps me find my way between
life and death and life once more.