‘It’s God’s plan’, they say, 

As I quietly unravel,

Wiping the tears discretely, 

So as not to interrupt

Their conversation. 

I gather memories, images 

Of children I never had

Like star clusters

Sparkling in the black void. 


‘It’s God’s plan’, they say, 

As I sidestep the awkward question

About ‘family’, 

As I avoid the baby aisle, 

As I excuse myself

From their playdate arrangements,

As I excuse myself

From society. 


‘It’s God’s plan’, they say, 

While I hurl silent prayers


Asking, hoping, wondering,

If God is still near,

If he has a plan

For this barren existence. 


‘It’s God’s plan’, they cry,

And I wonder

How many of them

Would welcome ‘God’s plan’

If he brought such


To their lives? 

How many of them

Would reject

Their own cold comfort? 


‘It’s God’s plan’, they say,

As I walk away.

I sit with him 

In the evening light, 

Revelling in his beauty,

Sensing his compassion,

Weeping together. 

I revel in his sunset song,

In the rippling of the lake,

And the call of the mother duck

Rejoicing and wailing

Over her ducklings.

I revel in his plans

To shepherd me,

Not forsake me,

To love and comfort me

All the days of my life. 

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