pulling my gaze from the gravesite

he won’t let me
stay dark—sky
today shows
impending glory
coming bright
seven times
the warmth
of this spring
day. and i wait
tension disarray.

today, i stared
out the kitchen
window over the
sink. dogwood
blooms reflected
a purity my heart
aches believe.
how he takes
great care
each petal—
tender touch
the same as
my mother’s
concern turning
tears back i can’t
call my own—

tonight, i’lll leave
the light on, letting
the child inside know
i don’t have to be afraid.
the light will shelter pressing
darkness, God swore he swallowed

I don’t typically ask for this, but I need prayers. For peace. Sleep. I have this terrible fear of the dark. I know this is because of the unknown/grandma’s death. All I know is I’ve never clung to God like this: staying up late talking to him. In my head. Whispers. Until I fall asleep. Dear God–I know you are here, watching, but I hate how sad I feel, afraid I feel when you are a God of compassion. Please keep pouring it out, speak to me gently. Darkness is light to you. Don’t let me fall into the trap, you’ve abandoned me. It’s not true. You leave me with peace.

I need some. Please.


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