God knows this garbage in my mind.
What did you do today? You cried.
Baby bottle sucker. Did mommy warm
your milk for you? Pacify your fear
with cookies n cream extra large
candy bat, pretzel goldfish?
Addressing you with all in all
best setiment: you’ll be okay.
I’ll be six minutes up the road,
instead of 5 hours away this time.
You believed that? Silly, silly girl.
What if she needs you with desperation again?
What are you going to do? Throw up your hands,
begging Jesus to swing you as a child clasps
hands with their mother? If you think you can
hold hands with an invisible Father, your view
proves anything but clear. You’ve always been
practically blind, so there explains why you grope
onto anything possibly moving beyond: Once
upon a time, there was a little girl. Her feet were a
fork in the road. One took her in circles. The other, straighter,
itched for constant, forward motion. Her family broke her heart,
coming to bitter ruin through divorce. Love became void inside her.
One day, someone said: Cry Yahweh. Though your mother & father
forsake you, He takes you in.
She furrowed her brow, unsure how
this He could keep her from drifting away
ninety-three percent, with seven percent possibility
she’ll receive love without fault. She’s been ridding
a broken merry go round, begging the tired, mechanical
horse take to the hills. He never moves off his circle track.
He needs reason to move. Or a tug on the reins. She resigned
herself to believe: this is love.
Poor, lonely stone heart.
There is no question, Will you wake me
with the water of Life, as You poured over Noah
and his ark? No, the plot never chances a twist.
No Savior answering a pleading request.
Only you and inescapable lonely.
And you say you’re a writer?