She speaks with authority

of life breathing hard

and good inside her,

a declaration of

what is solid and true.

What do you most believe?

For this truth—

you live it, she says.

I imagine her face,

flecks of gold spitting fire

when her eyes crinkle

so creases frame

corners of her cheeks.

Her hands are open,

fingers splayed like an

offering spilling over,

a beautiful mess.

I see goodness everywhere

in the shadows of night

and creased bedspreads

of sleeplessness,

in red-streaked prayers

and the void of no answers.

Here, she finds what she

has always known:

majesty bursts out of

the most surprising,

unexpected places where

she is held, pressure upon

the tender places

yet unsoothed.

-jennifer j. camp