Unsaid

My barely
Teenage daughter weeps.
Deep knotted sobs.
I ask her what is wrong
And she just replies,
“I don’t know.”
All my soothings
And proddings
Result in no enlightenment
For either of us,
Just a wrenching
“I don’t know.”

Its as if I have to reach her
On a different plane.
These words
Aren’t working out.

I breathe,
Swim back into
Our deepest connection,
And we are silent together.
I let my hand on her knee listen,
Take in her world.

I try to give her
The only gift I can.
“I’m OK,” I let my stillness tell her.
And hope she understands,
By heart,
That she will be OK,
Too.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith