hurt and joy are brother and sister

a raw wound

this morning I feel that thought and word

cannot possibly express the loss

that hovers just behind routine and conversation,

the absence is and will be a raw wound,

never to be gotten over,

but one with which we will have to live,

angry scream after scream barely approaches the power

of the blows upon the psyche,

I can still laugh,

still get things done,

excuse myself from the sorrow for awhile,

and still I will again close the circle

and come face-to-face with a truth I’d love to deny,

I know of people who seem able to compartmentalize:

to wall off areas they don’t want to touch,

I fear for them, for darkness, walled-off,

finds a way to slip into the other rooms

to short-circuit the power that can make us who we can be,

hurt and joy are brother and sister,

and who we are needs both

to rise to our fullness.

by Henry H. Walker

December 15, ’13