(Used by permission)

And suddenly there was this bright bald face in front of mine
With piercing blue eyes, wildberry lips, saying:
“You can do it; you’ll get through it,” over and over again.
My shrieking pain was made bearable only because of that face.

We named her after a mountain sunrise: a bright naked technicolor dream.
All around us now is this rainbow vessel, this platter of peacejoy and innocence.
Our shouts are diverted, deserted, mistrusted when she, curious, coos at them.
What can we do but coo too?

Withorwithout her though, there is pain. Your pain.
Tiny eyes, lips, puffs. They temper, they postpone.
But such a face alone is not enough to lift it, to ease it, to bear.
It not being their duty.

My eyes are only graygreen, my lips bland at best, but I too have a bright face.
Eager to give, to love, to share, to help and lift and trust. To say,
“You can do it; you’ll get through it,” over and over again.
Anxious, in fact. Still, as much as it will, my face will not do.

Whose then? Who?

And suddenly there was this bright strong face in front of yours,
With gentlest eyes, kind lips saying: “Look unto me. Doubt not. Fear not.
Behold the wounds which pierced my side,
and also the prints of the nails in my hands and feet.”

We can do it. We’ll get through it.
We can do it. We’ll get through it.
We can do it. We’ll get through it.
Over and over again.

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