A poem for those we hold in our hearts

Tonight, our hearts sit with yours
in stairwells or safe rooms,
counting minutes between sirens.

From far away,
our hearts press close—
breath held with yours,
pulse matching your fear,
our thoughts moving
through stone and sky
to sit beside you
in the small space
where you wait
for silence to return.

We imagine your hands
cupped around your children’s heads,
your voice a soft shield,
singing quiet stories
to outlast the noise.

We wish we could
build walls of safety with our arms,
wrap you in quiet
thicker than concrete.
You should not have to be this brave.
You should not have to know
the sound of falling things,
the maps of shelter,
the math of distance.

We cannot stop what falls from the sky.
But we can hold you
in every beat of our being.
We can hold you
with all the strength
we would give
if we were there.

And when morning comes—
may it come softly—
with still skies,
and breath that doesn’t catch,
and small, ordinary hopes
that can rise again
like sun through curtains
never drawn for war.

You are not alone.
We are with you.
Tonight, our hearts sit with yours
in stairwells or safe rooms,
counting minutes between sirens.