the demands of hope (a poem)

sometimes hope grows quietly inside of you.

she wriggles, does a few flips,

let’s you know she’s there.

she’s small but she’s alive.

sometimes hope expands

what you thought was the shape,

the tone,

the weight of who you are in the world,

and you realise you are even more.

sometimes hope brings an ache

that is in the bottom of your bones,

all the way deeper than your bones,

an ache that might come

from the very womb of God.

somehow it found its way to your body,

your lower back, your hips, your heart.

when the time finally comes,

(and it will)

hope is born

into this dangerous and magnificent world.

the demands of this process

will threaten your very existence

but no one else can do this for you,

no one else carries this one.

only you.

and when the pain has been much too much

and you are ready to lay down in your grave —

she is delivered.

screaming, naked, covered in grace,

right into your arms.

and the world will never be the same.