So much good arrives
at precisely the worst moments,
though we can’t see it for the flames,
the seizure, the accident, the illness,
for the unknown thing that has befallen us.
The way, it turns out, has been made,
has always been made for us, even as
we lose our jobs, our minds, our beloveds,
as we see the hands of people lifting
the terrified child from the boat just
traveled over rough seas, full of
haggard faces of those seeking sanctuary,
and the strangers who emerge from
the darkness bearing their particular
kind of light: the cup of water, a morsel
of food, a warm blanket, bandages,
medicine for body and soul.
What we don’t see when something
is taken away is the thing being born
underneath, the new bud on the hibernating
branch. Awash in grief, in pain, in panic,
we forget.
Just wait. Take a breath. And another.
And another. You’re safe. You’re held.
So much good lies ahead
on the darkest day, this longest night.
Tomorrow you’ll see more light.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jan Haag is a Sacramento writer who teaches journalism and creative writing at Sacramento City College. She leads writing workshops in an old loft on weekends so she can get some of her own work done. She is the author of a poetry collection, “Companion Spirit,” and is working on a novel set in Sacramento in the 1950s and 1970s.