I wish

Wind Daughter by Eileen Curteis

She stood there, a small shred of a thing
as the wind tore into her without mercy.
“Oh Mother Wind,” she cried,
“in the heart of a sobbing tree
You bring rain upon me.”
“I do that,” she said,
“for without this burden
how else can the torn face
of a rag doll get ripped?”

“But Mother Wind,” I cried,
“I want to be real! Make me real!”
“Suffering will make you real,” she said.
“Just listen to the harsh voice
of a howling wind
and know you can’t always
stop the hand that hits you, not always.”

“I love you, Mother Wind,” I said,
“but you tug hard
at the roots of my knotted hair
and like the slit of a cold knife
going into me
it hurts where you enter.”
“Yes, my child,” she said.
“It hurts where I enter.
Pain always hurts.”

Grief knew no words
And I was silent before her.
“Wind daughter,” she said, “you are real.
This last ache has made you real.
Go no to the others.”