A Pocket

Not everything that is given is a gift.
Yet I offer her some solace, however limited,
that what she has can be treated.
Unsolicited, I write her a refill to give her partner,
like me, a part of what she’s built about herself,
a patch within her quilt.
Afterward, I spare a moment, split the blinds to
stare a moment out my clinic window and consider
something almost inexplicable,
that sometimes the community understands a need
before the individual.

The sun burns, unfeeling,
the wind blows or waits, uncaring.
Everywhere, in fact, there are forces of nature,
against which we shelter, create a pocket.
Where there may have been only doubt
we can fold our fabric and stitch a seam,
turn our suffering inside out.
And although what we do often goes unseen
by those whose fear leads to hiding,
at times each of us feels uninvited,
so we make space and continue inviting.