[The other day, I met a mom and her autistic son in the stairwell of an office building. Waiting for them to descend, we all spoke with our hearts.]
Take your time, little man,
Eyes of love rest on you.
Your gaze may not meet mine,
But breathing talks too.
[The mother said they had been to physical therapy, and she apologized for how long her son was taking to get out of the stairwell.]
You do not have to be sorry,
Though I know, my sister,
I know, this is where the trauma lies.
We learn to protect our wounds.
[She said If he can just learn to talk. I felt my heart blow apart and become shards.]
Talk is cheap. You are precious.
[She said Now if we can just make it to the car.]
Your life runs parallel to the world,
Few opportunities for intersection.
In this moment, I hold you,
In this stairwell, your thoughts are safe.
[Mr Man made it down the stairs, and received my praise with his senses alert. We said little more. Acceptance and action over truisms.]
You are glass. You are steel.
You are blood. You are marrow.
You are love. You are justice.
You are safe. You are seen.