What else is there to say?

by Olivia Gwyn

He made love to me like my body was a miracle

and now a miracle is forming inside me

And I worry you forget that

I’ve never done this before

But the Giver of life put life-giving in my veins 

where my blood flows and pours out 

and it is an outpouring of love

My daughter is born of blood sweat and tears 

like you

from the body of a woman

Holy holy holy 

is the Lord God

in the dirt, covered in blood

from the legs of a girl

who had never done this before

You said ‘do not be afraid’

and I bite my tongue to keep from rebuking you

I imagine the angels words 

ringing in her ears

as she watched you 

covered in your own blood 

hit the dirt

'Afraid'? My God

There are not words for what she felt

as she wished you back to the

blessed and cursed dirt 

where you lay crying and alive 

and covered in her own blood

My God, my God, why—

I believe in the dark that

you know a mother’s grief better than I 

So when you say,

‘I will not leave you as orphans,

I will come to you’

I am begging you

bent over my steering wheel 

pressing my palms to my eyes

unable to breathe 

against the weight of a dying people

I beg you to come to Palestine

as a destroyer 

and a mother

like a river in a dry land 

'Let my people go'

I am a broken tape—

what else is there to say?

“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy… Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like streams in the Negeb! Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭126‬

I have been touched all my life

by Olivia Gwyn

I have been touched all my life

in so many insignificant ways

So it catches me by surprise 

to be caught by surprise on a June day 

while my feet are burning on the sand

It's always strange to bare your heart

to someone who's known you 

since you were a child

That's why it feels almost embarrassing 

to ask my Pawpaw if he want to come to the beach with me

when I know he doesn't go as much since knee surgery 

I beat around the bush and say he can come if he wants to 

when I really want him to know that I want him to

He's always been quiet,

even before the war 

I wish he never went, 

younger than me and foolish and in love 

and nowhere else to go

Except halfway across the world

where people were afraid and hurting and helpless and in love, too,

and nowhere else to go 

Anyway, he never talks about it

I feel kid-ish when he says he'll come

and he loads up the cart same as he's always done

since I was too young to remember

He carries the chairs and hands me 

his water bottle to carry in my bag

It sweats all on my book and I don't mind

I slow my pace to match his 

My feet are burning

on the cement-colored sand

when he asks me if I need him 

to put sunscreen on my back

I wasn't going to ask, but I say yes,

and I get a lump in my throat

at how gently, deliberately he rubs it in

His hands are leather

and we are quiet,

the only sound the wind off the sea,

blowing my hair in my eyes, the sand on my feet

I almost cry–

how many more times?–

at what it means to be cared for

The sunscreen spread carefully

down the curve of my back

How rare, how precious to be touched

by someone who stands to gain nothing by it

We cool our feet in the water

and laugh about how bad we are at telling the tides

and he asks if I can take a selfie of us in our chairs

On the way back home

I tell him I don't know why I didn't just tell him 

I wanted him to come

I guess I didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to

I guess I wanted him to want to

I guess I'm still scared of being seen wanting

But there are only so many June's when you are 25 and 76

and I will not spend them afraid of loving you

It is a privilege to love you every June we get

and I will still be loving you every June 

While I am missing your hands on my back in the heat,

wrinkles lined by ripples of sunscreen, 

hand over gentle hand

I am staying busy 

by Olivia Gwyn

The sky fades to pink, lilac,

deep indigo,

black

I am busy loving you 

when the darkness comes 

I keep myself busy, ignoring 

the sound of the unknown knocking 

at the apartment door 

I am busy kissing you on the lips 

and carrying our daughter on my hips 

I stay busy looking up at the leaves

and placing books on hold at the library 

I am planning my daughter’s Halloween costume

for two years from now when I can’t see my hand 

held right in front of my face 

I am busy filling up notebooks, slowly, slowly,

letting the shower head rinse my hair

Feel it flow down my scalp 

running, collecting in rivulets over

my neck where my hair no longer falls 

I am running my hands through my hair 

and crying when I feel afraid 

and learning not to cower from the darkness 

Look at the light all around me

Let me press it into paper,

find my scissors and cut it into pieces,

folded over and over again, to confetti

Spread to the masses 

like You fed the 5,000

Abundance from lack,

enough from nothing,

faith like ashes

How generous You are to show us,

even when we were too stubborn to see

I am staying busy,

like the jar of oil 

in the hands of the widow

who had no reason to believe

Where I thought the darkness 

would consume me—

Bread and a little oil,

more than enough to go around

— olivia gwyn