I wonder.
If our world was full of love,
would there be any hurting children?
Would our children have a chance to cry at all?
I wouldn’t find them
laying on the pavements of our man-made streets.
They’d never step into homes
that were not built with a foundation strong enough to hold them.
There would be no cycle to break.
Maybe they would grow up
to be wiser than our parents would ever be.
I dream of a home
where my garden is built on resilience,
soil that will not crumble
when an infant treads cautiously.
The flowers will not punish their fingers
for plucking their petals.
The rain will kiss the sweet surface of their skin,
and the sun will only ever embrace them
with a warmth that lets them stay
for as long as they need to.
A home that will never be quiet,
the ringing of laughter embedding itself in the very walls.
Dinners will be messy,
food will be plenty.
No child will ever go to bed hungry.
The night will never allow them
to feel consumed in the chillness of the air
when it is dark outside.
I’ll never smash your heart
as if it is ceramic.
Instead, I’ll hold you
the way my mother never did.
A home where love is found at the doorstep.