No matter how terrible what happened was, it is still our choice whether to understand our story as one of crippling defeat or a miraculous victory against the odds – even if all we do is get back up and learn to stand again.
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
“Picture a staircase,”
the hypnotist said.
“At the top, a door
onto a landscape.”
And my mother, who at her death
Called out to her sister Ozra,
Has not yet let go of
My own sister’s hand.
I still hear
The sound of your laughter
On that summer morning
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