By Karen Swank
you tell me who you are every day
by your words
how you speak of enemies
the way you talk to friends
your tone with your family
what is secret, what is shared
by the way you use your knowledge
to beat people down
to lift others up
or simply as a deep, still well
by your eyes when you listen
soaking everything in
acceptance or judgment
or waiting, impatient for your turn to talk
by how tightly your past holds you
or how heavy is the measure of your future
by the way you play
and who’s invited into the game
by what you give and how
from generosity, with open hand
from guilt, as the pressure increases
from obligation, wearied by duty
or maybe not at all
by your assumptions
about my intentions and motivations
what did you think i called you
why do you think i turned away
by the way you offer to help
just because you noticed my need
or the way you rest, unnoticeable,
while i work alone
by what happens when we disagree
do you assume that i assume, absent facts
when we argue, do you attack my intelligence
or show me that you respect me
even when my stance seems foolish to you
by whether or not i can tell you no
and still be secure in your heart
by whether your story is consistent
or changes with time and circumstance
by whether i can know that what you promise
is what you do
by how you value my time
and how i am valued in yours
you tell me who you are every day
i have no need to ask
i study who i am every day
noticing how i have grown
and how short i still fall
i tell you who i am every day
this is love: that you see, and still remain
Karen is from Aledo, IL. She went to Monmouth College and studied Latin and English. She is a biological mom of two children and surrogate mom/friend/advocate for a whole host
of children. She would like to meet every wounded soul that I’ve she’s ever known… as a child, before the “damage was done” so she could tell them how much they are loved.