Healing

I combed through a number of my poetry anthologies to seek out this specific poem.

This poem is an old, old friend:

Small Prayer
By Weldon Kees

Change, move, dead clock, that this fresh day
May break with dazzling light to these sick eyes.
Burn, glare, old sun, so long unseen,
That time may find its sound again, and cleanse
Whatever it is that a wound remembers
After the healing ends

* * *

Isn’t it amazing how quickly children heal? A trip, a fall, a skinned knee…the next morning there’s a scab…the day after that it is gone. Presto! All is well.

Nothing can stop a blossoming body.

It’s all so different now. I bump my shin and sport a contusion for, oh…say…five months. Wounds wound longer once the body grows old.

I think it’s the same with heartaches, too.

* * *