Oars To The Water

For Stella on Christmas Eve

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The rowing is hard, but
you make it look easy.
My hands, blistered and raw,
your hands, soft and tender...
forgiving.

The tides rage against me,
and yet they favor you.
My arms shake with exhaustion,
your arms strong with conviction.

Feet glued to the ground
as I watch you rise
to the very mountaintop…
heart in my mouth
so you shall not fall.

Next year we’ll
exchange our masks
of grief and sorrow
for ones of joy and light
as we rejoice
the closing of the old
and the birth
of the new.