Arc of Sorrow

An image, and a poem.

You keep track of all my sorrows.

You have collected all my tears in your bottle.

You have recorded each one in your book.

Psalm 56:8

the arc of all my sorrows

Cynthia Reynolds 2021

We are waiting for the sun to rise.

As it always does

and yet we are anxious

with just a tiny wisp of dread

that somehow this time

It won’t.

We are waiting for the honey to find our lips.

Because we know how good it can be,

because we labored so hard like worker bees

relentless and loyal

with our heads down and our shoulders

to the wheel

salty sweat drying on those lips.

We are waiting for the train

to pull into the station

on a cold platform of rage.

A train that will take us away.

It’s late and the train is never late.

Surely it will come full of precious goods

endless and purposeful on a track

that takes us to tomorrow.

We are waiting for the sun to rise

like we

are waiting for permission to exhale

to let the anguish out

let all the sorrow go

like we’re

waiting to unload a great cargo of

uncertainty so we can float back to earth

and plant our feet

on something true

something holy

something kind.

I’m waiting

for the sweet honey of your breath to

release me

to run your hand along

the arc of all my sorrows

and find the key that will open me.

I’m waiting for a miracle

that rides above the tracks

in a ritual of motion

to hurtle me through this dark tunnel

and all I will feel is free.