Thursday is staring into my friend’s fear of another, another miscarriage, an egg never to be filled with dividing cells forming limbs, muscle, tissue, and a heart that beats. It takes me back to when an ultrasound probe searched inside me for life showing nothing but an empty yolk sac.
Thursday is prayers lifted on behalf of another, putting our feet down and the earth shakes. Hands lifted because a door opens from above and we cry Holy, Holy, Holy is the One, the author of life, of us.
mijin kang 