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Compassionate Action

Megan Merchant

Ghazal for Unspoken Sorrow

What will become of us, our son resting along the line of my hip, hum.

The sweet whimper-whine his breath makes, lip pressing lip, hum.

In our half-dark, we hush hands and mouths while he’s asleep in the room,

the stretched and scarred afterbirth of my body unfolding a deep rooted hum.

Thin white milk streams from my nipples onto your chest, a praise of unspoken sorrow. My body weeps without permission, a primitive, broken hum.

A Monk said, you cannot know compassion until you love your own mother, absolutely.

If I exhaled completely, I could die from such abandon, my heart shutter-stopping hum.

Today, I light three candles, chant, Om Mani Padme Hum.

Megan, let compassion have the gravity of stone. Om Mani Padme Hum.