It’s the love I remember.
From the stranger or the soulmate,
the smallest act of kindness;
each one saying, I love you.
I remember the shaming and the pain too,
but the love gives them room to be seen, room to breathe.
That’s how I know it’s the way forward
and backward and
in and out of everything,
because I’ve felt that seismic shift
(the one where everything falls from its perfect place and my heart cracks open to reveal a depth of pain I didn’t know I was capable of.)
And love is the ladder I climb out on,
and the bridge that spans pain to presence.
And I wonder what you remember,
in those moments of mortality when life thins and you can almost reach your hand through the veil to the other side.
Do you remember the love?
monique minahan 