Sunday, July 20, 2014

Laugh Like Sarah

My King.
Here I am again, "small and unsure."
Give me words for this.
What paltry and circular thoughts I have. How can I escape?
What am I digging into, when I dig into You? How do I get through
the matter to the matter, to the stuff of life?

You see this tiny little fly traversing the fine hairs of my blanket
like they're hurdles.
You sense the faint, taut itch of my healing scar.
You smell my lavender oil and deodorant, my sweat.
You taste the strawberries' last lingering sweetness and acidity in my mouth.
Feel the thick of my waist, the dimpling in my knuckles, the fine flexing
muscles of my eyes.
Nothing, and everything. One actual thing, perhaps.

What is life worth? What gauges worth?
While trimming sticks today I wondered if I could ever be driven to cannibalism.
Would I want that badly to survive? Why? What kind of life?
What is most precious to me, when there is no applause?
Do I want to prove myself to myself? To the mountains?
To You, who heard me laugh like Sarah, Abraham,
at Your absurd promises?
I can't deny it.

"Will I now have this pleasure?"

Jenny and Tyler, "Skyline Hill"
Genesis 17:17, 18:12

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