My cracked and broken ideals lay in your cupped hands.
Disbelief, fear, you look through fingers.
You don’t want to see the possibilities, the parallels.

But you are strong, you won’t look away.
You prod it with your finger and instantly, smartly, throw it far, far.

The smallest reassures, enormous faith in me.
The other writes a list, clucking, she holds my hand firm, smart.
The eldest knows the pain like an old friend; she welcomes it in and strangles it.

They are warriors.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, tough.
Their hearts replace my own,
Cradling my broken one in their light, until it heals.

Architects of my new life.
How to acknowledge this?
I will find a way.
My success will be theirs, the silent investors.

When I am whole again,
You will look at the ocean with me, so small.
We will talk of fancy things, share everything.
Trying not to make the people nearest feel small, because we are giants.
We are knowingness and cry for those with small ideas,
for we see beauty and possibility in everything.
My wish.

And it will be how it always has,
us against the world.
Guiding and prodding each other,
saying look, look , can’t you see how amazing you are?

I smile because I know that I am loved
more than any woman who is loved by man.
It is real, strong and revives me as always.

And my heart is not only whole, but it sings, and I am so grateful.
So blessed, to have them in my life.
My warriors.



Fraser Coast, Australia

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