The Bridge

I still pray for you

on long walks, and at night

sometimes when the world

is small and quiet,

or too big.

I pray your life will be rich

with God’s goodness,

sweet as your favorite

strawberry-rhubarb pie.

I pray that when you meet her,

you will be so happy.

Who knows, maybe

she will even show you

how to dance.

Funny now, how these

prayers are like little

gems of power

building a bridge, one drop

at a time for me to walk

my grief over,

and filling you with strength.

All these unspoken

colors illuminate the hope

that someday hello

will be woven with the fiber

of healed beginnings,

warming your hands

as much as mine.

Since our love crumbled

and drained out, these prayers—

this little, steady candle

remains.

It is enough.