Seven

Seven is the number of years it took me

To celebrate your life without tears.

You were the rain and the wind,

The storm I scurried from at first

Growl of thunder and blinding lightning.

Cowering with fear, a little girl again

While the adult me was seething with suppressed anger,

Frustrated that I couldn't be honest with you,

 Love you freely as other daughters loved their fathers.

 Through a spectrum of different intensities

That had a delicate snowflake tenderness,

Free of frostbitten hurts and frozen brokenness.

You made me weep for lost opportunities and forlorn regrets.

Why could we not steamroll beyond the snowdrifts of our past?


Seven is the number of years since I've found

A living faith that mirrors your own conviction,

That was forged in the crucible of great suffering

And where you regained your youthful ideals,

So crystalline pure, exuding a perfumed peace.

Past indignities began to melt as I sat at your feet.

Could going home be more poignantly beautiful?

The young sapling planted has grown deep roots

And sprouted into a sturdy tree with glossy emerald foliage,

Laden with ruby red fruit, peachy fuzzy fragrant,

It pays homage to the spirit of your being,

The God-likeness you left me as inheritance.

My soul is enriched with lashings of joy unsurpassed

Grace upon grace, it multiplies seven-fold.