She must have chosen me before I knew Her,
Or maybe, forgetting, I chose Her.
Silent, She's kept Her peace,
Though I have risen and fallen,
Walked through dark places holding hands with demons -
- often -
forgetting who I am.
She observes with deeper eyes than mine.
She sees it all,
Sees clearly, with a wise heart.
She speaks,
Sometimes in words, sometimes in silence,
She speaks to me.
One day, alone and afraid,
I said: "Yes,"
And we walked hand in hand.
We didn't part again
(although I sometimes forgot Her for long stretches).
She is placid, clear, deep, and full.
When I am angry, shaking a hot fist at the world,
She is placid, clear, deep, and full.
She holds me then, with great gentleness.
My breath returns, gentle, too.
Mary Elyn Bahlert (revised, 3/2021).
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