May you hold your burdens
May you hold your burdens
like babies. Breathe them in, bounce them, burp them from time to time. May you offer spoonfuls of nourishment and meet the inevitable mess with a soft bib and a warm smile. May you forsake walls together. May you curl like spoons in the lap of the earth and air yourselves to the sky. When your babies see the stars, may they wonder what they might still become.
Photo by Rachel McDermott on Unsplash
The Prompt
Today, I’m spending the day with my three-year-old nephew. I’m rediscovering the delight of long conversations with a tiny human and marveling at just how far a mixture of peanut butter and saliva can travel. I am not expecting my day to be tidy, efficient, productive, or even convenient—adjectives that often cling to the corners of my mind, like sticky judgments. Today will simply be what it will be.
Why is it so much easier to accept the humanness of children and so much harder to embrace our own messiness?
Today finds me thinking about the parts of me that are still very much children. It has me wanting to offer them the same kindness, patience, and delight that I’m trying to offer my nephew. This poem, a blessing of sorts, expresses that wish.
If you’d like to play around with a prompt today, then I encourage you to try writing a blessing of your own! If “blessing” feels like an icky or incongruent word for you, try on the word “wishing” instead. What do you wish for yourself? Your friend? Your foe? Your favorite houseplant? The whole world? If you were to make your own (possibly saltier) version of a Hallmark card just for this being or collection of beings), what would it say?
I look forward to reading your poems in the comments thread, friends. May your muses be boisterous, and may all your blessings come true!
Your 3-year-old muse inspired some gorgeous lines, here Lisa. So lovely: "May you curl like spoons/in the lap of the earth and air yourselves to the sky." I love the idea of babies drawing inspiration from the stars, and I also thought, "when any of us see the stars, may be wonder what we might still become" (inhale...exhale...yes, please).
The poem that wanted to emerge for me:
May you recognize
your own skin for
the raiment it is,
bespoke and buttoned
securely with belonging.
May it snug with certainty,
neither chafing
nor constraining, containing
enough room to breathe
but not enough to lease.
May it wear well, sturdy
at its seams, its pockets
deep enough
to carry all your dreams.
I loved this blessing for your inner child, Lisa. I found this to be a comforting prompt as well. I wrote mine for everyone who has ever been threatened with a "just you wait..." as if they only had the bad to look forward to, or an "it goes so fast, enjoy it!" when everything felt too hard.
.
May your years be long;
may they sigh and stretch
and linger deliciously.
May your days be short,
and filled with sweetness.