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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