Wishing peace, love, and joy to all.
Years from now when your good words
have fallen like fisted knots
of a net dimpling the sea’s surface;
when you’ve let your fingers settle
like roots of love
pushing between hairline cracks in rock;
when your eyes have refused
to reflect the hatred of unsympathetic ears
even as you cry salt and blood;
then I will touch this time and hold fast –
not to a crown of thorns
but to the crowning of your head,
slick with thick black hair between my legs,
your small yelp screaming for milk
and a mother’s strength.