She Doesn't Yet Know

She Doesn't Yet Know



You can tell her,
but she still doesn't quite know
how strong she is.
Like a sapling, she will bend,
but she will not break.
Even though the wind blows hard,
even if she is flooded with
salted waters,
even, still, if she feels dark clouds
ranging in her horizons:
she will not break because
she has a core, a spine
that will keep her upright--
no matter the storm.

You can tell her,
but she still doesn't quite understand
that she has what she needs.
Like a magnet, she pulls others close,
braiding them together because
the is power in friendship.

You can tell her,
but she's still not quite ready to believe
in the fortress her soul is
having buttresses made of sheer love
that will defend against all comers--
that doubt, and fear and loneliness
will have no permanent place within,
that memory will start to soothe and
little moments will light the darkness.

She will though.
And the knowing,
when it comes, little by little,
will let her shine once more,
will let her smiles touch her eyes,
will let her be able to talk
without dissolving in tears.
And that knowing
will let her do these things
because of the love she shared.