Between Bruises & Blooms

When the barn door opened,
hope died twice.

Once
when she stepped into the light—

small,
slow,
already gone.

And again
when her mother understood
that every mile searched,
every scream into the woods,
every prayer whispered
into the dark

had already been answered.

Just not kindly.

There are some griefs
that do not arrive
with warning.

They walk toward you
wearing the face
you love most.