time traveler (written last November)

I’m ready, though I know it will never be easy.
Reliving heartache, recreating hell.
In it, I will see a tapestry of answered prayers,
even as I saw them then, through tears,
clenched teeth, blinding shame.
Going back word by word I will remember the gifts,
I will see a stunning creation in the pattern of brokenness,
a divine assistance that carried a blinded one,
one whose vision was obscured by a loneliness so complete
no dry-eyed prayer was sent heavenward,
only syllables whispered between sobs,
even as the afternoon sun shone on my crumpled form
huddled against the east wall of our living room.
Writing will not turn back the clock
and make right what was already shattered.
It will form a new, radiant sculpture, molded from crisis to victory.