good friday
birdsong breaks through the last layers of sleep. i don’t want to make the coffee or find my jacket. i don’t want to zip my boots grab my keys and head out into a world that hates me. it’s true. i’m tired and everyday the westboro baptist protests the porn star memes the budgets, the billboards. the well meaning cutting questions. i’m just trying to get some apple jacks for my kid, match socks and sign his homework. i’m just trying to find lunch money and a permission slip. i don’t want to withstand it anymore, i just want to walk out into the sunlight and appreciate the bird flight. i do not want to kiss the one who betrayed me. i do not want to look at him and see what might be beautiful. i only see the dark behind my eyelids, feel the cold cement. but my son is grabbing his backpack to go out to the rumors and the possibility of bullets. when i don’t have it in me i find it in you. today is going to be hard. i pour my coffee anyway.
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palm sunday
today the echoes of the crowd: crucify him in the insults hurled at children marching for their lives. there is no silencing my own disquieted heart. lord, how can i face this day? my daughter cries at the kitchen table. i push her hair back. my thoughts and prayers have gone evil. i want someone to pay for all this hurt. i light a wick in the still dark. someday easter, hurry. a seven day candle doesn’t last that long. pre dawn haiku
i don’t know. tonight morning is just a maybe. the dark is just dark. it’s never enough. i am captive of the hours, branches on the glass. i testify to something that i can’t yet see. sit with me and wait. |
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August 2020
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