Where Saints Dwell: poem by Therese Kosterman



























bubbles, image by ddimitrova, on Pixabay



The Leap Is Where Saints Dwell

Concrete tables wrapped

in primary colors and a happy

birthday banner resist the gray,

mud from overnight rain.

Bubble maker and guests arrive

late to the ceremonial.

My daughter so gravely

wants her son to act his part.

How old was she when

I learned? She does not belong

to me. Children, timid,

approach, but he ignores them,

clings, begs for cake. I watch

her fall into a well of worry

and stop myself at the edge.

The heartbreak is, she must leave

the earth behind and trust him.

The clouds briefly open

and allow the sun to find

our neighborhood park.

He detaches, joins

beautiful chaos, children

reaching for bubbles that drift

up on the light wind. “It’s a good

party?” she asks, and I agree.

The heartbreak is, acute love

that holds her to the earth

where he lives, betting her soul

on every breath. The leap is where

saints dwell.




_____________________




Therese Kosterman is an emerging poet and native Californian, whose work is inspired by her Catholic upbringing, nature, reading, heartbreak, and beloved family, friends, and strangers.

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