What It Means to be Loved

light skinned man with short brown beard with arm around woman in black shirt with short brown hair shown from the back
There is value,
There are lessons,
In living these days
Of slowness,
And of waiting 
For my channel,
My spine,
My Eitz Hayyim,
To flow
With the sap 
Of promise:
Newness of creation.
For days now
I have been inviting,
And waiting,
And inviting, again, 
A poem to
Call to me.
It did.
It did when my uproarious laughter
At my being unable
To properly get my shoes on,
Even with my beloved husband’s help,
And his teasing of me,
“I know you have done this before,
I have seen you,”
Began to wind down.
My body carries
The injury of trauma.
And through the needs
Of this same 
Vulnerable body,
And a man
Who helps me meet them,
I am learning
What it means 
To be loved.
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