Cliché - Poetry Thursday

Time Heals All Wounds

In your hour of need,
do you want to reach out
and literally stop people's mouths
before those words come out
again?

I imagine the shock of it
your small warm fingers
gently but firmly
pressed against their lips
as their cheeks flush pink.

What are we left with,
between what you don't need to hear
and what we don't know how to say?

I'm sorry
doesn't work in English,
this messy language
that conflates apology with empathy.

Even how are you
seems fraught, with the "you"
in your life suddenly stripped down
to the singular.

Words fail me.
Again and again.
Yet here I lurk,
your friend and vampire,
ready to swoop in
at the first sign of trouble.

So that I can feel useful.
Needed. Helpful. Important.
So that I can stand close
and silent this time, maybe,
letting the words run through my head
like a prayer.

Let her find peace.
Let her feel hope.
Let her stay strong.
Let her heal. In time.

(Thank you to the women of Poetry Thursday
for their continuing inspiration. This week
they asked participants to consider breathing life
into a cliché or two. (How many did you spot?)
It was an interesting challenge.)