One Hundred Flowers Open


The children have gone to bed.
We are so tired we could fold ourselves neatly
behind our eyes and sleep mid-word, sleep standing
warm among the creatures in the barn, lean together
and sleep, forgetting each other completely in the velvet,
the forgiveness of that sleep.

Then the one small cry:
one strike of the match-head of sound:
one child’s voice:
and the hundred names of love are lit
as we rise and walk down the hall.

One hundred nights we wake like this,
wake out of our nowhere
to kneel by small beds in darkness.
One hundred flowers open in our hands,
a name for love written in each one.
~Annie Lighthart “The Hundred Names of Love”


Each night of each child wakening,
each moment of rocking them in the dark,
lulling them back to the soft velvet of sleep,
I feel my budding love
unfurling in fragrance
of blossomed fullness, opening until there is no inner spiral left,
and each petal drops, grateful.


One thought on “One Hundred Flowers Open

  1. Yes, that is how and when ‘it’ happens — that recognition, that knowing, that sacred feeling that comes somewhere between night and dawn, between heaven and earth, between where ‘they’ have come from so recently and where they are now — waiting for those human, comforting arms to enfold them and make their temporary fears disappear….


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