What sort of strength does it take
to hold her small hands
which has birthed her own story of failure?
Cradling the cold fingers and stroking
the flat palm, you whisper
‘”You are stronger than you think”
just before serving hot coffee,
two scoops of sugar: a sweet stirring.
But will the glug of good intentions
propel her towards action,
which is needed more than hope?
C.S. Lewis once wrote,
“Courage, dear heart!” Words. Just words,
often not enough to produce.
Floundering under pressure,
not knowing what depths to draw from,
not believing in her own strength or
ability to build the sinew of change
and string together the silver gleam
of weights, too heavy now, but
with daily pumping, sweat forming, bearing down,
results will come
bursting forth like a newborn ready, heart beating,
ready, unknowing of what lies ahead.