Nothing But Wild Emptiness

Grace

When I think of how you move—
when you enter a room, how the room
enters you; when you step out
into the night, how the night sky
falls into your hair—
when I think of how you stand
as if with nothing in your hands
and I have nothing to offer you now
save my own wild emptiness—
when I think of how you leave
the air untouched and how you came
into the world my grief had wrecked
and made it shine again by simply
walking slowly through the dark
toward me—love, I think
the body is a miracle, that animal
whose graceful shadow
lies between us, calmed.

–Cecilia Woloch

This poem came to me by way of my all time best poetry trailblazer, Lisa. It was published in an issue of Faultlines, UC Irvine’s journal of arts and literature when Lisa was editor-in-chief in 2005.

Everything about this poem speaks to its title. Reading these lines outloud is running your hand on velvet, or watching the slow pour of warm caramel into a spreading pool in a dish. And given that my favorite grace giver is out of town, it fits snugly in the hollow of his empty pillow.