Let’s hold hands and sit a while beneath this tree,
sharing our stories of doubt until miraculously
the doubt turns to laughter.
Soft and uncertain and at first, then
busting our cheeks and guts
in full belly hysterical shrieks of joy.
The world is made of certificates;
pieces of paper, signed by an authority,
attesting to our competence or skill, and so
we have doubted that which rises
from the deep pools of our hearts and of our wombs.
There is no certificate for the ancient magic
written in our bones.
No authority to stamp a seal of approval
on the healing power of our loving gaze,
our gentle touch,
the tender way we listen.
Love and courage,