This poem is dedicated to all of us who are grappling—but especially in honor of Mother’s Day 2023 for those whose day won't look like they may have wished. Photo of wild bluebells by my friend, artist and Master Gardener, Melissa Partin.

All the Empty Spaces
by Kelly Carr

there comes a point
—for everyone, it seems—
when you wake one morning
and discover 

the life you’re living
doesn’t look exactly
like the life you dreamed  

you cultivated so much
—relationships, goals, expectations—
that simply do not exist
yet not for lack of effort

you dug deep into the earth
dirt in your nails
sweat on your brow 

but the vine produced no fruit
the fauna didn’t take root
seeds ready to flourish in rows
now dried, withered wisps 

tears were plentiful
but somehow weren’t enough
to nourish or sustain 

weary, you step back inside
pull the covers up
try to sleep without dreaming
—to no avail 

then morning arrives
tomorrow has become today
and it’s time to step outside

forced feet trod heavy limbs
to the kitchen, coffee brewed
something out the window
catches your eye

color blossoming all around
wildflowers this way and that
dancing in the breeze

blooms you did not anticipate
blooms you did not plant
blooms in unexpected places
how long had they been there? 

delicate petal patterns
you didn’t know existed
producing unfiltered joy

the people you didn’t plan to meet
the doors you didn’t reach to open
the hopes you never fathomed
the prayers you couldn’t utter

now fill all the empty spaces

the garden of your life
will never fully match
the vision you once held
in unspoilt imagination 

but somehow
what God has grown instead
is steady, is enough