“You can do this,”
we tell the people we love,
saving them a place
in a future they cannot yet see.
May we keep a place
for ourselves.
There is a life to live
while we are becoming.
Give yourself the chance
you would offer someone you love.
I think of my words as seeds.
A page closes;
a sentence goes with you
into moments I may never know.
You bring a life
I have never lived.
What I planted for courage
may offer shade to sorrow.
Something I wrote alone
becomes a meeting place.
I may never see the tree,
taste its fruit,
or meet who rests beneath it.
Still, I care about what I plant.
Your words have reached me, too.
I have read them
beside an unfinished page
and pulled my chair closer.
Perhaps neither of us knows
how often we have helped
the other continue.
If any of my words have stayed,
I would love to hear
what they became for you:
comfort, a question,
a feeling finally given language.
Share only what you wish.
A life need not be transformed
for a moment to matter.
I know what I hoped to plant.
You know the ground it reached.
May we give our gifts time to grow
and make room for one another.
There is sky enough
for all of us to shine.
Let us help each other keep a little light,
so someone’s day becomes less dark
because we were part of it.
Thank you for your encouragement.
I hope you find some of it here,
waiting for you.
