Too much, she said, just now I could split down the middle,
a clean line, like I used to imagine, each part falling onto the sand,
no blood, no pain, my body as cardboard in a vast nothing,
simply watching possibility that cannot be,
as children do in their open minds.
Uncertainty induced anxiety builds in the afternoon,
expands, will shrink and fade by late evening.
Now I wait, a thread of faith lifting my chest with each breath,
until I am content with the not knowing once again.
Recording the moments of sadness for all I can not control. There is a large space for gratitude, and I go there often, but not just now. I’m hoping the difficult emotions of the last few hours will begin to fade when I click publish. They usually do. Even as I write, my kids are enjoying a game across the room, pumpkin pie is baking, and I know that these few hours of sadness are a universal experience, and make (the more common) hours of happiness that much sweeter.