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Thursday, August 21, 2014

Song of a Broken Woman




So many broken things,
I can’t fix them all.

My child is splintered;
I can’t raise him up.

My sister is shattered.
I can’t put her back together.

My heart is cracked;
I can’t mend it.

The earth is diseased;
I can’t heal her.

The law is busted;
I can’t make it work.

My country is falling apart.
I can’t rebuild it.

But I want to live.
(I can’t fix it)

But I want to live
(I can’t change it)

We want to survive
(we can’t do it all)

So many broken things,
how do we begin?

So many damaged souls,
where do we start?

The world burning down,
I can’t fix it, honey,

The city gray with tear-gas,
I can’t wash it away

The forests filled with ash,
I can’t put out the fire

Children thrown out like garbage
I can’t redeem them

Too much broken
for one broken woman to fix it all

So hold my hand, friend,
just hold my hand

and in that space
where our two palms meet

maybe we can find
one tiny peace

one seed, one sprout,
something new

let’s agree to keep it safe
let’s promise each other to nourish

one. tiny. beating. heart.
between us -

let’s try reaching out
with our other hand

to some other poor
broken spirit

make another tiny piece
of peace

a safe place
a holy space

so much broken in the world
but let’s imagine ourselves cracks

between torn pavement
where hope

can be a persistent weed,
dig in,

remember wholeness:
reach up.


Deborah A. Miranda

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