It’s been a looooooong few months, friends. I feel like I’ve lived a whole year in the last 3 months. It’s a whirlwind, dream, fog, and chaotic rollercoaster. I could easily write a novel with the amount of events that have occurred. Heck, I could probably push out a trilogy. Maybe one day I’ll write a book about our adventures in the fostering world. The love, the fight, and the retreat. For today though, the pain is too raw. The events too new.
However, I am indeed a writer. And a writer must in fact, well, write. I’ve missed writing. I’ll use any excuse to write. It’s quite therapeutic. But I can’t tell specifics. I just simply can’t. I probably never can.
I’m returning to my first love of the written word. The medium I used deep in the doldrums of teenage woes and my darkest of days. I’m referring to the almighty poem. The cryptic sonnet. The mysterious verse.
I poured my soul into this poem I dubbed “Three Cords.” I held back on details while I let go of control. It leaves a world to the imagination, but to me, it released the world. Read and interpret these words if you dare, otherwise you can wait for the foster-inspired characters and plot points that I’m sure will be leaking into my novels in the years to come. Because life affects our stories. And stories affect our lives. Live them both well my friends, and I hope you enjoy my dabble in the poetic word.
by Laura K. Ito
Hope springs to life.
Whispers she is here at last. Here at last.
Foster child wanting. Needing
Love forms, creates
Mama. Daddy. Brother. And found Sister.
Her warmth embraces us. Teaching
Faith in the seen.
The unseen. Accepting forgiveness. Grace.
She says yes, forever. Crying
Phone calls. Visits.
When will it end? The noise. So much clatter.
Pause for interruption. Dreading
Fear we are wrong.
Wrong in choice. Wrong in hope. Wrong family.
Fearing faith’s dark future. Wanting
Truth in questions.
Stay? Go? Burning voices. Third degree hits.
Unease of restless nights. Asking
Why child. Why us.
Abandon. Lie. Betray. Trusting no more.
Loving the least of these. Feeling
Loss of dreams. Plans.
Letting go. Empty hands. Three little words.
I loved her. Moving on to finding
A different home.
Quiet. Quiet inside. A newfound calm.
Embrace tears. Embrace love. Facing
Next day. Next week.
Tomorrow’s sunrise comes. Three cords stronger.
Rest in faith, hope, love. Becoming