I couldn’t tell you
when it went absent
without leave but
one day I noticed it was
gone. The last shred of
possibility
slipped out
the door.
You adjust.
The sadness becomes mortar
for a wall just high enough
to keep the dream from getting in
finding its old place
where it fit in so well
until
it didn’t.
We resigned ourselves to
a good enough life.
But then—years later, mind you—
he came home from Jerusalem
out of breath and out of
words to explain himself.
He kept making the same
frantic motions
desperate for me to understand.
When he finally settled down
we played a guessing game:
he acted out a story
that began with routine but
ended with surprise.
I laugh when I think of
his exaggerated gestures
his repeated look of goofy astonishment
his tears of frustration
before I blurted the unthinkable
and the joy knocked us
onto the floor in a tangle.
It’s been quiet around here
for months
except when we smile at one another
and a gust of hope stirs,
rearranges our secret.
One day it blew down the last
remnant of resignation.
I can tell you the exact moment
because it was the day I felt
a tiny breeze
fluttering in my womb.
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Wow. So full and so beautiful. Thank you.
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Thank you, Anne. Blessed Advent to you!
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