Rachel Hawkins-Crockford

Twelve days to heal a world


Twelve days to heal the wound or make our last mistakes

Close draws the day our world will break


Twelve days of meanings I cannot grasp or make

These are the days our world begins to break


The children’s words, the birds, the woods, the wolves

The small islands where the waves will break


Waves that go unheard, dunes of salt and tears, shifting sands

And it is mine too, my mother’s heart, which breaks


Twelve days when I would write a poem or sing a song to heal a wound

To save a world, that is not yours or mine to break


Twelve barren days of promises instead, twelve days of empty words

This is the way a world might break


Our heads of state a jumbled mess that turns too late

This is the world of men that break


Each small misstep, each word that forms our fate,

Every step towards the bond with Earth we break


A bond of grass and clay and stone it took millennia to make

That’s the bond with life we break


Twelve years, twelve days, twelve hours, twelve minutes left

As we watch and wait, our world begins to break


Twelve days we could have healed the wound but committed to a path

Where all that matters in the world will break