There are so many things I could write about. Watching her brave face crumple as soon as she collapsed against her physical therapist, legs frail and body exhausted after walking 45 steps down the hall. Singing Alicia Keys as she walked, as she sobbed in her bed for ten minutes after. I could linger in the playroom with three little ones, erupting in giggles and songs, handing out our tenderness and hand drums, eyes sharing it all every so often. I could write about all the songs stuck in my head by the end of the day, the people who have followed me home. My heart is a pulled muscle I cannot stop using. Not enough songs, poems, conversations pour out of me to catch it all. I run to the people I trust to hold it all, amazed and grateful that they accept me as constantly spilling. I have cried so much the past couple of weeks just out of love for someone. I don’t know the perimeter of my heart. I don’t know how it all comes and goes. But I know that I am here to catch it, that I am made an open-faced bowl facing up, and my light is strong enough to be constantly reflecting. I am still learning the art of it, still sinking into its weight.
