Find the center of mourning.

Gently press
your palm
upon it.

Hear its sharp rhythm,
its slicing moan,
its cry of release

—Even when you feel
the scrape of humanity
etching hurt across division lines

—Even when your
body reveals
fallow aches,
secrets buried in plain view:

Stay Here.

There’s no hiding.

Wrap your gasp of
nauseous recognition,
the cold flood of truth
(chiseled on
your bones)
in self-honor.

Then…
Find the center of mourning.

Gently press
your palm
upon it.

Feel the tenderness of raw presence
bring you home.

©rebecca cavender, 2016