when I think of my Abba
I think of all the things
he gave me
to show me he loved me
when I couldn’t–wouldn’t
accept it, didn’t
feel safe in it.
puppy kisses and the smell
of living fur
laughs and rowdiness around
friendsgiving table
the cool wind pushing through
my hair and the rough rock beneath
my fingertips
the laugh I hadn’t felt in days
weeks, months
the boy growing up without me
soon to be my world.
when I couldn’t–wouldn’t
think of him as safe
he crowned me as queen in all
the little ways he knew
would mean something to me
and in it all
instead of shouting his love
from the mountaintops
he was caring enough
to whisper.
– 12/6