I have held your wracking body,
overtaken by holy and hell alike,
when the wind teased your cheek
where the boy last kissed you, and
when you bled an ocean of salt and bedrock.
And I have accepted you as you are,
both when you rise in morning and
when you fall by evening, a child
asking for her mother by mouth and hand
when you discover your fear of the dark
at eighteen years old.
And darkness takes on many forms you discover,
and you whimper beneath my body, asking for
comfort that sometimes only I bring at the end of the day,
when your pockets are filled with too many
sticky notes, receipts, and reminders.
I’ve heard your heart hum and mellow
as your breath grows louder with peace,
and I hold you until heaven reaches you.
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