Holding to Love

The weight.
Ribs crushing her lungs,
a jaw that won’t unbolt.
She has to get out.
She needs to breathe.
She can’t open her eyes.
Will she never
spread her arms?

Her trust, when it vanished,
loosed the mountain.
Her voice,
the voice with an edge
has buried her.
When she goes within,
the load presses, presses.
The weight.

When she claws an opening,
the weight
mirrors into double.
Her voice full of failure
calls out for help.
She pleads to fly free.
Loss batters her,
wrings her into nothing.
Shock
locks even her thoughts,
at first,
stock-still.

But in that flattened place,
her heart takes hold.
She can hear it,
her body’s hold.
The beat brings her back,
makes room.
Can it be true?
She feels her breath lift large—
Can it be so?

She holds to love.
It makes the miracle
of her return.
Can it be believed?
She holds to love.
And it takes her
into lightness.
Yes it is so.
Into the life-giving ride
that can only be felt,
that can only ever
be known,
when you rise
from the crush of  despair.

©Susa Silvermarie 2022