Paul

Tell me of a single man,
from Genesis to Revelation
that was properly equipped
for his task? Pin point every
instance, where he was
perfectly ready for the call
to which he was given?
Explain to me how he was
wholly able to fulfill his
responsibilities. Because
all I see are pictures of
men who were human and
broken, fallen and completely
incomplete. I see a picture of
David, just a boy with a
handful of stones, and I
see Moses unable to speak
and I see Jacob afraid and
on the run, and I see Paul,
poor and wandering, rejected
and downcast. What makes
you think the Twelve had any
time to prepare for the most
arduous task when Christ asked
them to follow immediately?
When has our God ever been
in the business of calling us to
task "when we're ready?"
But you, you assume the need
for perfection in spades, for
readiness that is only ideal,
and because of the blindness
of your own mind you have
undone your responsibilities,
taken away from your maturity,
let go of your support,
and told God "you're just not ready".

And I sit here and pray with ferocity
that He shows you you're trusting a lie.

Consolation

As my chest rips open again
I beg You to hold me
closer
than you've ever held me
before,
because this sort of confusion
and unrest has never been so
potent.
And you lull me to sleep again
promising
that everything will make sense
in Your time.
You tell me it's not I that has to
see,
not I that has to be
changed,
but it is I that has to
trust.

Trust,
that You are good.

Ice Cream

He took your letters
from my hands, as
I sobbed into the
placemat. He told
me I wasn't allowed
to have them back.
And I just cried as
he put them in his
pocket and he said
"I know, I know."
And the anger in his
eyes, the confusion
and the frustration
towards you was
the perfect picture
of what my own
heart must look like,
and he told me it was
okay to want you back.
But then he said
if you didn't want
me back, then the regret
would last you a lifetime.

And through my tears I prayed,
for the strength to believe that.

Alarm

Even though I must refrain
from dialling your number
at 6:30am, I wake up on
my own, nonetheless, waiting
to hear your groggy morning
voice once again. And in these
days of absolute desperation
and aching, it takes all the
strength in me to lift you up
to someone greater, in order
to control the endless sobbing
and unimaginable pain. So
even though you sleep past
7 and have forgotten the
beauty we'd share at
daybreak and sunset,
I cling to the early morning,
lift my hands to the heavens,
let out all the tears my eyes have left,
and pray for you.
For your peace.
For your clarity.
For you to remember.

For the strength
to get through the day.

Blanket

I push back against the
morning because the
truth has never hit me
so hard before, and I'm
tired of soaking the pillow
case, and I'm running out
of Kleenex. I shove yesterday
out with the fleece blanket,
pulling it over my head to
be covered by you, praying
for the ability to wake up,
praying for the strength to
remember, praying for you
to know how little I want to
live like this, and my chest
aches right in the middle.
I tore it open as you walked
away and let you steal the
most precious thing I have
to give, and now I don't
walk around with life in me.
It is only grace that keeps me
breathing, only mercy that keeps
me upright, and only forgiveness
that pushes me to hope.

And I am awake.

The Fatherless in York

I wonder if he'd see

his mothers brown eyes 

when he looked at me 

and know that I was 

his, or if he would 

notice my crooked smile

and know the only other 

place he's seen that was in 

his high school graduation photo. 

I wonder if he saw me on the subway 

and thought he'd seen me 

somewhere before. Or if 

he thought back to the 

woman he spent a night with 

some 22 years ago 

and wondered if I were 

the evidence. I wonder if 

he entertains the thought of 

walking the same streets as me, 

or if he pushes my existence 

out of his mind. 

Most of all, I wonder 

if he wonders about me at all. 

The Gardner

Plant me in that perfect 

place, where my hands 

first met yours in our 

innocence, where our

hearts aligned and danced

until the morning. Root 

me in the meadow that 

is only meant for you 

and me, where no other 

feet have trod, no other 

name has been whispered, 

where only our love is 

known by the trees. There 

I will flourish under your 

sun, protected by the shade 

only meant for me, watered 

by the words you save, 

nourished by the time you 

invest. Fence me in, 

let me be wild in the confines 

of your heart, and keep me 

forever by your side. 

Cashier

My till is short by
about three hours
and thirty cents
and I know I
counted everything
two and three
times, but my
balance is still
off. Tell me where
the time went,
my dear, because
I'm still here with
the phone off the
hook waiting for
the dial tone to
stop, but it never
seems to end. And
I'm not okay with
this aching, not
okay with this
breaking, and when
my hands never
reach yours, as
far as they stretch,
I'm not okay with
this distance.

I'm not
okay.

To Sleep

If you read my poems
you would know.
I know you haven't,
because of your aching
silence. You've stopped.
And I hope to God
there's a reason why.

Blush

Stop and smell the roses
darling,
before they're doubled
over
with their pretty little
heads
breaking their little
necks,
beaten by the rain,
overwatered
after too much neglect.

They were ever so
perfect
when you planted them,
good-intentioned
but lacking the discipline to
water,
they dried and cracked,
until
the sky opened up and
poured,
drowning the delicate
flowers
in a sea of disappointed hopes.

Stop and smell the roses
darling,
and protect them,
while you still can.

Duvet

My fingers drop the
phone again, as I
decide against my
incessant initiation,
always leaving me
unsatisfied and unsure
of your affections,
while mine become
overwhelmingly
clear.

Please, do not
think you can stop
chasing after me,
just because you've
won my affections.