“Light”

LIGHT

for Julia

How light is your room in Jerusalem?
If love is air, then you breathe it into the world—

to Amie in California, who thinks of you tonight,
to Frederik, born in Rwanda and adopted to Belgium at 8,

he thinks of your laughter. And Laura, who wanted
to embrace you in Philadelphia. She is here, too.

I wonder, Julia, how light are you tonight?
On the subway in Seoul, when you fell asleep

in 2005 before the blasts and the chemo,
did you know your light could outweigh even this?

I don’t know what light I have—
but here it is. Take it.

The Sudanese mother you teach Hebrew to,
you are her light.

All the adoptees in Copenhagen, New York, Seoul,
we share light, don’t we?

And yours, the shining want, the Grace you embody,
is a lamp in us. Take these lamps and sleep.

And then, wake again and breathe.

Written by Lee Herrick