oh, my love,
I could see that you were
deep in thought
~ but I couldn’t help myself
from interrupting you.

I’m sorry for being rude ~
but I had a question for you
that I was unable to shake

my curiosity had sprouted like a sapling
and then grew into a redwood with more
branches than I could ever count

I couldn’t escape it
~ the question had tied itself to my tongue
~ I had to ask you

I drew a cautious breath
and approached
the altar of your amber eyes

“My love?” I asked

you looked up at me through
the billowing steam rising up
from your peppermint tea
spilling your smile open like an ark
that held a hundred million graces

“My love,” I repeated. “Why have you
been so quiet lately?”
your smile didn’t fade,
~ if anything it widened
~like you had been waiting for me
to finally have the courage to ask my question

you reached across the kitchen table
and laid your hand on mine
as if it were a picnic blanket
softly, you said to me:

“Because I’m healing,”

your hand squeezed mine
and suddenly I couldn’t find my voice
to offer a follow up question

for the first time in my life
I was mute

suddenly it all made sense

wounds are so loud
~ injuries are like roars
~ being hurt always makes such a clamor
~ getting damaged is often so deafening

but the act of restoration
is so very silent
it’s a rose petal falling
on a cotton bed

the murmur of healing
is just like that
of a sleeping newborn
humming calmly
in the arms of their mother

the repair of our soul
takes place under a canopy
of lullabies

recovery often
arrives in a hush
~ like vespers being
delicately sung at sunrise
in a stone monastery

the voice of renewal
gently echoes
off the walls
inviting us to fall into the near
noiseless sound of our
punctured heart

being filled with hope once again
calling us to sit in stillness
as all the rips we have torn in each other
are being sewn back together by
the seamstress
of forgiveness

my love,
your silence has taught me that
being made whole again
is usually an inaudible miracle

healing doesn’t bang a gong
or ring a bell

in fact, the only sound healing makes
is one of a babbling brook in the distance
~ calling us to follow it
and to discover the
moving water that
will make us new
if we just lay down
it its holy flow

~ oh, my love, my scars are
always ringing in my ears
injuries screaming at me
from the past

~ my love, can you teach me your secrets
of inaudible healing?
~ teach me how to be so very quiet
~ teach me how to be so very still
~ teach me how to be so very humble
while I’m being made whole again

and my love, teach me how
to listen so very carefully

to the wonderful silence
of my coming recovery.

John Roedel