Kingdom III: Egg Yolk

Dearest.
Help me not become small and bitter.
Wean me, also, from the desire to be
extraordinary. I'm Your egg yolk. Subsume
me, grow large on me. Hatch with eyes open.

Kingdom II: Elbows

Whenever I feel you are holding me at the elbows
squeeze them a little
until I know I'm only fighting what I love,
and we can feed on my embarrassed laughter as I swallow,
dig into your chest. 

Kingdom I: Purple-Deep

It's nights like this when my lips are purple-deep
and my eyes darken,
subdued by a steady passion that renders
into ash the fuel of self.
You could blow me away.

One Single Afternoon

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and I wonder
if You've made any progress with me.
I know You must be the loyallest Gardener. I need You
to prove that, because one single afternoon
can set me wild, wilted,
half rotted. Clip, tend, water me into pure abundance.
Abundance. I like the "dance" in that word. {Parts of today were
so low I had to sing
to fight it + Patrick's Breastplate is a You-send =
then I got so mellow & content. What precious friends You've
given me}.

Goodness often looks like bright plastic fruit. Help me  s  m  e  l  l
the aroma of Your table. Hot-diggity-believe it. Work up/with appetite.
Wake up the sleepy spirit in me,
answer my prayers in the ugliest hours.
Feed me like a baby bird (I'd like to fitintoYousnugly,

to crow

with love over

every good thing).

Alll goood thiiings cooome frooom You (September 6)

Only friend. It's You. I can never,
never find solace or comfort or strength
or real confidence anywhere else. Counterfeits,
yes, but not the reality. Yours is so
real I am afraid of it. Could it really be
that You are all I need? And that I can always fling
myself on You and it is enough, and sometimes
I don't even need to try?

It is so, so easy to be lured off track. Or drag my feet. Oh Jesus,
how willing and meek You were. You did not grasp at power,
at praise, at wealth - did not coerce love. Teach me Your ways.
Please help me to trust You with my mind - to remind me
of the important things, to make me a good loveress,
a good lioness.
Awake, awake, awaken me. 

September

Birds blew in today
      from the north somewhere,
           beating the air, looking newborn in our wet backyard.

Summer falls back, hushing,
hissing from the barefoot rain of September

and the chanting of crickets, yellowing leaves of squash.
Damp grass, thickets of clover, Queen Anne's lace are browning slowly,

sugared at the veins.

I'm sick with love, with sin, with cynicism -
too quick, made rash from waiting. Longing.
Blessing with the passion of a curse,
through gritted teeth.

Katie, later this will all make sense.
I called you, fattened you like a pig and plugged your ears,
closed your eyes. I sucked you dry. I took back but I gave back,
I carried you, sent you songs in the night. Peeled back the blinds.
Do not be frightened:
pummel Me, swear, claim no pride in all your "I have never"s - you have.
You have nothing,  you are also being stripped. This, the greater gift.
I consign you to disobedience, and mercy. I have you.
Listen to Me: I love you.

            Cowbird, bluebird, nuthatch,
         northern flicker,
     chickadee,
sparrow,

fall.

---

Bad Hair Day

Today:
another day that
clothes don't feel right.

I'm
Human, unrefined
daughter of Eve,

itching for Eden. 

Eating a fried egg from the hot

skillet, bending over the stove. 

Food dives down my throat
unthanked, untasted.

This is what we call
a "bad hair day"; another way of making
excuses for our gap teeth, muffin top,
athlete's foot
and halitosis.
Our
sluggish hands and reedy voices,
post nasal drip.

Did You feel like this? So painfully
un-suffering, unready, pasted on?

With all I am, I need You.
Work with this.