A CHILD'S INTUITION

A Child’s Intuition 

Moon in cancer, 

crab shells.

She runs to me 

with pieces 

in her hands.

Look, 

it’s broken.

Her next words, 

Is grandma’s body 

buried in soil?

I speak of ashes 

without fire,

dust to hold 

and let go.

I don’t 

understand. 

Then, 

she imagines 

river water.

We can 

go to the water

and give 

these shells 

and her ashes

to the river.

She leads,

I follow,

feet on stones

rippling current,

a child’s knowing

to be in ritual.

Understanding 

can look like this.

We do not 

have to carry 

the story,

but hold only 

the remains of it,

let it sift between

our fingers until

it is gone.

-Hannah Elizabeth King