A Poem to Innocence

Healing the father wound

Today, I’m sharing a personal poem that emerged from the depths of something that occurred long ago in my childhood. It’s part of the ongoing unfolding of my healing, and I offer it here with care.

A Poem to Innocence

“I’m sorry.”

That’s what you said

                 on the night you died,
                 your spirit voice in the darkness
                 beside my bed.


My inner child, barely five,

                refusing to forgive,
                stomped her foot and cried,
                “You should be sorry!”

It took many years to remember what happened in that House of Lies.

                The dark closet.
                The confusion.
                The depravity.

“Shh. Don’t tell.”

For solace, I escaped through the barbed-wire fence

                into the crisp quiet of a forest--

where one day I found a nest of baby bunnies, soft gray fluff curled between the roots of a tall pine tree.

I touched them gently with one finger as I worried,

                Where is the Mother Rabbit?

All grown up, gentle hand at my back, I turned toward the pain secreted in my body.

I felt the grief of missing myself.
I gave the demons a voice, breathing life into their clinched throats.

Their screams, kicks, and violent trembling cracked open the cage around my heart.

I felt the sound of my voice waking up, vibrating every cell.
Revealing the whole story.
Restoring.
Re-storying.

I won’t abandon you again.

Now I’m nearly the same age he was when he passed.
I’m discovering what it feels like to live in a

                 House of Truth.

A house infused with my light.

Here, I pray to turn from limitation toward fresh creation.
My kindling breath feeds the inner fire.

Beneath a maple tree, protected by her gnarled branches, my heart pulses in rhythm
as Mother Earth and I receive Father Sun’s warming touch.

Whole and Holy.

I wield the sharpened sword, sing the sacred spells,
and slice through the illusion.

In my mind’s eye
I stand.
Tall and strong in the front yard of my childhood home.
As the little girl part of me runs across the grass

                  and leaps into my open arms.

I hold her close and we twirl together,

                  laughing into the shimmering air.

In that moment, the fragments of my Soul reunite.
My heart is healed.
We are one.
I am free.

For so long, I had forgotten.
But then, recalling the all of me,
I come home

                to my innocence,

                to my joy.


Oh, yes – here I am!

I am deeply touched that you have read this offering. Thank you for being here.

Healing from trauma calls for deep courage and divinely aligned support. The fact that I could write this poem and share it with you is an unexpected miracle. This is a testament to the alchemy of elements that have guided me along my path back to wholeness — direction from a higher power, ancestral helpers, nature spirits, my courage, and the skill of four wise women: April Rucker, Jane Mayer, Sunny Mira Mi, and Nijlan Rosalia Bastet.

Being witnessed by these women was the embodied compassion I truly needed. Even though I wasn’t consciously aware of what wanted to be released, each one of them showed up over a period of four years to help me say yes to clearing the next layer of anger and grief. They midwifed me back to life.

I am grateful every day for this profound healing. It will be so until my final breath. Whatever you’re dealing with, may you know the gift of divine support, wise guidance, and serenity in your life.

If you are interested in learning more about the deeper layers behind this poem, I offer a fuller window into my early life and healing journey in my previous essay, Mother Hunger. For anyone carrying the wound of childhood trauma, that piece is offered in solidarity and tenderness.

Little Janice Lee, age 6

In service of truth and love,

Lee