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Rawe-struck

The wonder-filled life of a single older-ish mom.

Holding Sandy Hook

cold-1284028__340Your small self slips under my covers
at 3 a.m.
grazes a sleep-shrouded kiss on my cheek,
barely a breeze,
whispers I love you
before falling back into deep sleep.

I used to lean in close,
when you were barely bigger than a shoe box,
holding my own breath to listen, keeping vigil during darkness,
making sure that the hole in your heart
had not swallowed your wind —
not sure how to pray or
who
what
to pray to —
but silently whimpering
please,
thank you,
I’ve never known such
fragile, fierce
love.

Eggshells know.
When broken, the large of the shell is
a magnet for the small shards of itself,
yearning for the essence of
its wholeness
now separate but still belonging.

The cord between me and you was short,
the delivery nurse said,
making your separation from me traumatic.
Even within I held you tight
but now learn and relearn that what I receive
I must also release.

Let me go, Mama, you’ll say to me later this day
when I hug you too tight after learning that
twenty children
twenty
children
barely older than you,
and six women warriors who fought for them,
were gunned down in their classrooms.
There are no words for this.

One
liked to ride horses and had asked Santa for cowgirl boots.
One
wanted to be an architect and a paleontologist when he grew up.
One
had convinced her mom to let her wear the pink dress
that was supposed to be saved for Christmas.
She was going to be an angel
in the nativity play that weekend.

We don’t yet know how we will weep
as we study their bright eyes and impish grins.
How their parents will never wake
to shudder and shake off
this nightmare.

But before that darkness corrodes our world
you will rise to the dawn of this day,
fill your backpack with small love notes
you’ve drawn for your kindergarten friends.

And when you open the door you will see that
shimmering white flurries have dusted the ground
and you’ll call out,
“Mama! The world has been frosted!
Come taste it!”

— Amy Rawe 12.14.12

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10 thoughts on “Holding Sandy Hook

  1. Moving and beautiful, Amy.

  2. awesome. you are really talented!

  3. Bella–this is breathtaking, heartbreaking, full of love and tenderness for all.

  4. WOW! This poem is fantastic. I agree with previous comments. Love, Lisa

  5. Beautiful Amy! Heatbreaking and heartwarming and I think we’ll all give our kids, big and small, an extra hug today.

  6. Auburn McCanta on said:

    This has split my heart open with its beauty and its truth. I love this poem nearly as much as I love the hand that wrote it. Such amazing talent, Amy!

  7. wow wow wow. Thank you.

  8. What a wonderful world you have embraced and shared with us.

  9. Way back when, you thought poetry might not be your gig. We thank our lucky stars you dropped that notion every time you share your work. Moving your heartwork to words with such grace and clarity is a very special skill. Sharing your treasure with us causes the spark to flare. Many thanks.

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