Cupped in my hand, potential.
One smooth shell, strong and fragile by turns,
A spark, and nourishment.
This small thing seems so precious today:
A symbol of the beauty I have found
In love,
In equality,
In justice.
Surely also, a symbol of the danger posed by
Hard edges,
Unyielding surfaces,
The hands that suddenly let go.
I, too, become a defender of that delicate protection now.
In whatever small way is open to me,
Arms open,
Heart open,
Listening hard.