Poem For My Son On The Eve Of Surgery To Repair A Shattered Bone

22

By Carol Hopkins

Awake at 5 in the morning, the angels come and say,
“Look at the liquid light in this dark room.”
I stare into molecules dancing and rejoicing in the eternally unfolding
Love of God.

There is no difference between
chair, book, aging body, slipper with a tear in its sole,
and the stained  glass art my son made as a little boy.
None of this can ever be anything other than what it is,
liquid light.

How can I explain this to the child in us who wants Santa
to bring the latest game,
unaware that we are eternally resting motionless in the Mother’s lap?

Still, regularly I bend my knee and ask for Grace.
It’s the way of this world.

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5 thoughts on “Poem For My Son On The Eve Of Surgery To Repair A Shattered Bone

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