There is a sure and certain pain
in this leaving once again
of those we love
and miss so much
that we’d swear we can touch the spot
right where it hurts
and suspect the heart does more
than just pump blood.

There is an empty ache
in that constant waking awareness
that no matter
how much we care
it isn’t enough
to make up the lack
of whatever wounds it is
that takes us back
to a childhood that was somehow
wonderful and awful at the same time.

There is a gnawing numbness
that grows inside us
when we have learned
that what we have tried to hide
might be a bit larger than we thought
and being caught in between
the knowing and the healing
is stealing more than what we knew
but even so we also know
that we aren’t quite ready
to give up or move on ahead.

And yet there is an indisputable joy
in those moments of visiting,
a realization that the same grace
that forgives us
also invites us to forgive ourselves,
and a hope of healing
that the same power
that cleansed lepers
and gave sight to the blind
will also find the truth
that will soothe away whatever it is
that keeps us from truly loving
the one that we were and are
and have become.

H. Arnett
5/10/17