In which I get distracted from my work by writing a poem because its #nationalpoetryday…

Take a deep breath in – count –  two…three…four

and out again

three…four..five…

Is it there yet? Did you find it? That poem you were looking for?

You might have left it under the bench at mass.

Or maybe you packed it in your kids lunchbox.

You might have heard a murmer of it on your husband’s lips as you kissed him, warm from sleep

Or seen a glimmer of it in that old friend’s eyes when it looked like he might be crying

Yes,

it was definitely there

Keep hold of it now…

It is your poem and your story and your work and your playing

It is the dream you haven’t dreamed yet and the fears you have not yet begun to dread

Be bold, you who carries with you all the power of your weakness

You who holds in you the might of frailty

You who births and dies and feeds and starves and loves and dies some more

You who is the manwomanhumanmotherfather child and poem in us all.

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