Life is fragile.
I stroke the downy cheek of my newborn son,
and press him close to my heart.
Wonder suffuses me, for
life is fragile.
Life is brittle.
I watch the black clumps of Kansas soil
falling into my grandma’s grave.
Sadness consumes me, for
life is brittle.
Life is brief.
I reach under the table for my husband’s
hand, we smile companionably.
Gratefulness fills me, though
life is brief.
Oh, cherish your time! For life
is so fragile,
I wrote this poem after my grandma died in 2007. Many more special people have died since then, and also many special people have lived. I hold my loved ones close in my heart, not in fear, but in knowing that they are truly a gift.