poem to a daughter adopted

This river of pain
inside yourself
is yours.
It cuts through your heart
as if you were made of sandstone
not flesh
and thought and
Light—
so you never go near
this deep cut canyon
where your waters flow.
You have never seen
the late light of the Sun
dressing the exposed layers
of your wounded heart
in flowering light.
You have never seen
the cathedral-walled rock eroding
and
glowing in the light of your living.
You have never seen the ravens
that build their nests
in the crevices of your walls—
they pray on the wing
in ancient wind-tongue
as they soar in the space
of the canyon
cut into you
by your own
river of pain.
You have never seen
the multitudes of trout
frisking in their cool realm
of water and light and movement
that is your own
river of pain.
Your heart has been cut open
and it is a gift you have never seen.
Sweet child,
I am building a canoe for you.
Your father and I
will take you by each hand and
we will walk down past
the terrible rim
where the winds
howl their fierce sorrow song
and we will go down to the river
deep in your heart
with steady foot and gentle hand
we will help you see
the gifts in your heart
you have never seen.

In time
you will see and drink
from your River
and taste
the truth of you
the fertile sweetness
that is you.
Your canoe is waiting.

 

Stephanie Thomas Berry is a self-taught artist and poet, and author of “This Star-Gifted Breath,” a collection of her paintings and poetry. She lives with her family of husband, five kids, three dogs, and varying numbers of cats in a converted barn at the foot of Mount Mitchell near Burnsville, NC.
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