These hold me here, in time.
These still my soul.
These hold me true.
Why then do I hurry past the moments of opportunity?
Why does my heart keep turning aside
To gaze at the plastic trinkets scattered on the path
Or run to hide from the angry voices shouted in the air?
How do I let myself get distracted again, again, again?
I turn to run and find myself stumbling into you.
You have been standing there, waiting for me.
I cry out again and release myself into your arms.
And you take me in.
You sit me down upon the grass.
I lean myself upon your frame.
And sigh a tearful, stuttering sigh.
You place your hand upon my shoulder
And whisper in my ear, “Here, here.”
Not ‘there, there,’ as I might expect,
But ‘here, here.’
And that with that brief turn of phrase,
My heart takes its breath and turns, as well.
And I am, for just a moment, here.
Here – the only place I can really be right now.
‘There’ is only fantasy,
A wishful, fearful, fitful web,
Sticky with false promises.
Here. Here within your arms.
Here and nowhere else.
Here for just a breath.
Here, here, is life.
[photo by Susanne Nilsson per cc 2.0]