The weed,
Proud in its glossy teardrop leaves,
Bends and returns to center
In wind and storm.
The single stem stands
Until
On the path
Broken
It can at least feebly say,
“He came this way!
He came this way.”
The weed,
Proud in its glossy teardrop leaves,
Bends and returns to center
In wind and storm.
The single stem stands
Until
On the path
Broken
It can at least feebly say,
“He came this way!
He came this way.”
I never kept a baby book for you,
Never carefully charted inches and milestones
So you could one day see and I could
Prove I loved you.
This must be my evidence-
That I had finally learned how to play,
How to guide;
I drank up your air and built a treasury of raised eyebrows and sideways smiles.
I taught your siblings to enjoy your baby ways and to make room for your growing curiosity.
I saved your life ten thousand times, and each, the gasping pain and fear felt fresh and new-
You wanted to fly!
I pray you do.
When fear’s fire is hot
With no worthwhile thought,
Flee to the last hope of men:
God won’t give a Damn
Unless we beg for one-
And maybe, not even then.
I feel this demands comment because it can be interpreted two ways, by the one who hopes and by the one who despairs. The one who despairs sees an apathetic God, or perhaps no God at all. The one who hopes sees that even in her own brokenness, she always has the promise of Heaven if she fights on. The last line speaks of the power of intercession and Mercy for all souls.
I’m not enough.
There it is.
Not enough, never enough-
Inadequate. Insufficient.
I was never tested under these conditions before now-
The prize fight for a proving ground,
Opening night for the audition.
I am green and red and blue,
Sure to lose dignity, pride, and place-
But the only way out is through,
The only end-
True to every story ever told-
Is to embark, all unwillingly, on
Another New.
I’m leaving the Tower of Babel.
We shake our fists and throw up our hands,
Bellow and shriek to waken the damned,
Hedged round by sound, each soul a faction-
Drown in inchoate echoes or
Flee to put love in action?
I’m leaving the Tower of Babel.
A web of grace
That lets us climb:
He is Yours and
You are mine.
His the power that makes us whole,
His transfusion, Soul to soul.
I drive with one hand
And not because I want to.
I am twisted, shoulder aching,
Holding my baby’s still-pudgy fingers
And singing soothingly.
The world offends him-
Smiles from strangers and
Any restraint.
Shrieks shake my teeth
And kicks rock my seat,
Rapidfire, staccato-
The drum that calls to
Superhuman calm.
I, too, balk at restraint,
And soothing your storms:
Physician’s balm.
Everlasting One-and-Three,
The He in I and We in Me;
Creation in its first light turns,
Quakes before Love that burns.
Now drawn to that forgotten place:
I’ll risk the fire to touch Your face.
My mother is fixing dinner again,
Stifling a gasp as her
Beautiful
Fingers with the purple and blue and green veins
Woven knottily about them
Gingerly lift the dancing pot lid
And steam stings her wrist.
I am wedged into a kitchen corner,
The hard edges of counter and cabinet
Cradling me as I stand
Squarely in her way,
Talking about nothing and
Drawing life from her voice and her stove.
The stumbling
Fumbling
Grumbling heart
That won’t give in
Nor let hope depart,
Which, same-yoked,
Stairsteps away from sin,
May yet get in-
May yet get in!