poems | Dare Boldly

The Petulant Critic and the Mona Lisa Smile

Month 2 – Day 9: The challenge of the caregiver: How to find yourself, and choose love, when the voice of fear keeps asking, “Where did you go?”

She Dares by Louise Gallagher

Oct 10, 2025

4:00 am. My mind drifts into wakefulness, still shaking off a disturbing dream.

In it, I am walking a path across a field. A snake appears on the trail. Mouth spilling letters like jelly beans, he spies me and slithers away. The scattered letters dance a frenzied jig, then fall in scattered sequence into a question I desperately try not want read: “Where did you go?”

Angry, I rush forward to kick their accusatory presence away, but a woman appears on the trail. Her smile, as enigmatic as a Mona Lisa, is her only response. She holds out her hands, and the letters leap up to form a radiant diamond necklace around her neck.

What the feck?

This dream crystallizes the biggest challenge of my life as a full-time caregiver: To not lose myself in the midst of caring for another. Somewhere in the daily angst and confusion of watching the man I love lose ground to this almost year-long pneumonia that has complicated his COPD even further, I have lost ground against anger, regret, and fear. My disgruntled state of mind has disrupted everything, compromising the very kindness and compassion I strive to live by.

The internal critic hisses the question: Where did I go?

Today’s poem for Month 2: Day 9 of Dear Me, I Love You, my mission to write a love poem a day for a year is the answer. I’m finding myself again, right where I belong, anchored in these words reminding me to Choose Love. Always.

The Sage’s Silence
by Louise Gallagher

With the whine of a petulant child,
the critic within asks,
“Where did you go?”

The Sage holds her silence in grace,
her Mona Lisa smile
her only response.

She knows I am right here
anchored in the Now
which cannot be anywhere else
but where Love is
when I lean into her tender voice
urging me 
with every breath
to Choose Love. Always.

April is Poetry Month, and while my intention was to write a poem a day, life had other plans! Still, as they say, better late than never.

One poet who consistently captivates me is Mary Oliver. The depth and richness of her writing, her ability to conjure vivid images with such sparse, carefully chosen words, always leaves me in awe.

Her poem, “Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?”, poses a question that resonates deeply: “Listen, are you breathing, just a little, and calling it a life?”

Thanks to Ali Grimshaw’s Writing Circle, I now use an exercise to deeply connect with poetry: read a poem aloud twice, then write. The initial reading is about experiencing the flow of the words. The second is a deliberate listen for resonating words and ideas that inspire your own writing. (To do this solo, I record my reading, allowing for a focused, eyes-closed second listen to identify calling words and images, which I then underline as my inspiration.)

“Yes Mary Oliver, I am Breathing” is my response, my riff, to the powerful inquiry from Mary’s poem and the question, “Listen, are you breathing, just a little, and calling it a life?”

Yes Mary Oliver, I am Breathing by Louise Gallagher Breathing deep, slow breaths, ripe with potential life overflowing, untroubled by chattering minds, warning bells of danger lurking. Breathing, there is no hunger. Moments ease fluid and smooth, one breath to the next, misty vapours rising into the morning, becoming the ghost of time voiceless drifting softly away. Breathing, there is no thirsting. Questions of ‘What’s next’ cannot dim the bright blossoming of life’s rich bounty, painting the sky full of wonder and awe splashed haphazardly against the sharp, sweet joy of this moment passing – right now. Breathing, there is no yearning. Each breath, a symphony of delight singing in unison wth every leaf and stone, with waves rolling in and birds flying high. Breathing, there is no time to be, but now. Arms flung wide, neck stretched back, wide-eyed receiving life’s bounty savouring each drop doused in anticipation of what’s next, soaking up sun-warmed flesh ripe with possibility spilling over effortlessly into the startling wonder of being here alive in this moment right now.