Tag Archives: love

Poem: “You Matter” (2017)

You matter.

There is no one like you; never will be again,
from the birth of the earth to its outermost end.

You — 
an eager shout, a sacred “Yes!”
that moves your flesh, your bone, your breath. 

You — 
she, he, ze, they, you are whole and okay,
gracefully teaching your truth and your way.

You
cannot be forgotten. We cherish you so.
Your voice and your hands can do more than you know.

You
see old things anew. You turn them and test them.
Your wonder exhausts our old words to express them.

You
speak and lay bare all you dig up and hold
aloft from the dust of conventions grown cold. 

You
up-end every rock and pursue every glimmer
and give a new name to each sparkle and shimmer.

You
chart out new paths, go beyond our horizons:
new friendships, new stories, your hope always rising.

You,
welcome and wanted, whatever your skin,
wherever the neighborhood you were born in.

You
play across fences that keep us divided.
Old walls become weak where your love is ignited.

You
call us to kindness and questions, reminding:
the life of our living is found in the finding.

You!
There is no one like you; never will be again,
from the birth of the earth to its outermost end.

You matter. You do. We’ll keep learning with you.
Now stand on our shoulders. See what you can do.

First published on www.matthewsrosin.com and YouTube, 2017.

Letter to My Toddler

The On Being blog just published my guest contribution, “Letter to My Toddler.” This one means a lot to me.

If you love this piece or know someone who can benefit from reading it, please share it. You and they are not alone.

(If you’re not familiar with On Being, it’s an outstanding website and radio show/podcast on religion and spirituality, hosted by Krista Tippett — or, as On Being puts it, “a social enterprise with a radio show at its heart.” Highly recommended.)

Forget To Grieve

I still lie on my side of the bed. 
The dog still curls 
in the place she curled 
when she curled behind your legs. 

Her ears stand up at every sound and 
my heart leaps to meet you. 

I am aching for the day 
I forget to grieve. 

The column of moonlight 
from the window over the bed 
illuminates every speck of dust; 
every memory overhead. 

Every moment I think of you 
is a moment I won’t sleep. 

I am aching for the day 
I forget to grieve. 

I still lie on my side of the bed. 
The dog still curls 
in the place she curled 
when she curled behind your legs. 

You were the reason I looked ahead. 
Now the future haunts my dreams. 

I am aching for the day 
I forget to grieve.

About the poem:

I just released a new single, “Forget To Grieve,” via my Cindervoice musical persona.

The poem imagines a nightmare scenario of personal loss — one that, thankfully, I’ve not experienced.

Still, the poem intimidated me, so intimate are its small details. Part of me wanted to shelve the song.

But those small details held me to account. Especially these:

The dog still curls
in the place she curled
when she curled behind your legs.

When a lyric like that graces your pen, you must be stronger than your fear. You must follow where the words lead and hit “record.”

I’m glad I did.