I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;
wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing;
there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness, the dancing.
One year ago, it was not the Saturday of waiting
for the glory of Easter Sunday, no
that day of rejoicing had come
and gone, weeks before
last year today was a Friday
a different day of waiting
for what we knew would come
but could never prepare for
and by Saturday, she was
simply no longer here
grief is sticky, having
it's way with me
there is no calendar
no limit to tears
I wait for Sunday
in the stillness with Sandy