She’s got a big one in her throat
and two a little lower, teeny tiny,
really, just be
-low her heart. She starts
each day with a prayer and a sigh,
tries to do the normal, everyday
things, wondering
if they are time
bombs ticking, or
a whole lot of nothing
sticking to her ribs, a
temporary hiccup waiting
to be exposed.

She palms psalms and
kneels on weak knees,
breathes in blue sky
and promises of strength
and joy and hope. She
imagines herself bald and
beautiful and fighting like
a girl and standing strong,
but isn’t sure she really be
-longs in that gorgeous rebel
crowd. She cries out loud,
a puddle of herself spilled
loose; truth be told she’s
somewhat made of salt.
She knows He’ll give her all
she needs, but still she pleads
for a simpler path
-ology, with a sheepish
apology for her lack of true
and lasting trust.

She’s thrust for weeks into
a world she doesn’t know, of
tests and waiting and waiting
and questions and fears
and more tears. But she’s
prayerful and careful and
cared for and held,
all in His perfect time.

And finally, results: Be


Written for Poetic Asides’ object prompt.

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9 Responses to Lump

  1. Kir Piccini says:

    My prayers…match yours. always.

  2. Renee says:

    Well done! – I’d be willing to bet you are a little more like the Son having endured. Love you!

  3. Goosebumps. ♥ Beautiful.

  4. You’ve captured the feelings here well. “time/ bombs ticking or a whole lot of nothing” – the waiting when you don’t have an answer is pure torture.
    And then yes, that sheepish feeling, when we feel so desperate in the face of Him and we want so much, but really the same thing everyone wants.
    So glad you are out of this neck of the woods, but proud of you for writing about it.

  5. I am in awe of talent so raw … emotion harangued …and want every poet to see,
    and be
    as awestruck as me

    (Grammar be hanged.)

  6. with one long breath says:

    I love that line that wraps as “she starts slow her heart.” Clearly it had stopped for a while, and she’s now in the process of trying to make it start back up again. (And also her heart is lowing.) The best way to restart the heart is in the third line: “really, just be.”

    Wow. This is powerful: “wondering if they are time” … In every mundane task she does, is she ticking away seconds she might be using on bigger, more important matters. One never knows how much time she has left. And now that is more clear to her than ever.

    This is my favorite part:
    “longs in that gorgeous rebel
    crowd. She cries out loud,
    a puddle of herself spilled”

    And this line: “She knows He’ll give her all” … She isn’t capable, at the moment, of giving her all, so He will have to do it for her … hold her arms up, make her feet move, restart her heart even.

    I LOVE the way you split “pathology”!

    “She’s thrust for weeks into” … Again, excellent line break. She’s ripped in half (in-t[w]o).

    “and more tears. But she’s” … The wrap-around draws a picture of where’s she’s fleeing to to recover. “But she’s sand, more tears.” She’s crying an ocean seaside. Which is bigger, a beach of sand grains or an ocean of droplets? Either way, her tears are greater in number.

    And that ending: She has gotten great news, but she’s big time being made over here. The philosophy she’s coming out of this embracing is “Be 9.” Let your heart go back to running and laughing and playing, as a child. Remember the innocent truths you’ve forgotten. That’s how you will recover. You will grow backwards toward the time when you were doing life more “right.”

    I sure had to laugh at that first line.

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