Prayer for the wounded (Poem)

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unsplash-logoToa Heftiba

The bruises now are healed
The scars covered by tattoos
I don’t jump when I hear the door
Nor am I a captive audience in the pews

You took away my innocence
The little boy who loves God and Santa
You beat me where no one could see me
When your anger turned into rage

I might as well have been born, abroad
Where bombs explode and bullets rain
Yet, I lived here in the land of freedom of conscience, of thought
while my screams ignited an inferno that
Burned my childhood to the ground

The things you did, you did them to me
The smell of smoke engulfed my lungs
As you bounced my head off of the flame red tile
Where no help could come to me

You were like the Roman soldier
The Pharisee and Pilot and the nails
I was the little boy, Jesus
now I am the woman at the well

Deliver me, Oh God, from what was done
Rewrite what happened in your name
Resurrect me once again, my Lord
Even though my mouth and my clothes and my faith smell of brimstone

I’ve been in the presence of evil, real evil
Yet I am alive, somehow….

 

Grief (National Poetry Month)

 

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unsplash-logoAllef Vinicius

Hi!

So, April is National Poetry month and so every day I am going to prompt people for topics. My friend Liam chose:

Grief

I swallowed my tongue
somewhere between goodbyes
I drifted for weeks
transitioning from winter to spring
arguing with your ghost
inside my head

Every little detail of our last conversation
the laugh lines around your eyes
the tone of your voice
I’ve memorized with Catholic-like clarity

I haven’t cried, no
grown men bottle it up
and it makes us restless and fevered
swallowing back the urge
to beg and plead and borrow
time from some ancient god

Shades of Shale
is my mood
dark gray moments
in my room
pretending that everything is going
so well
I wander through the empty hallways
of the life we once knew

Now, if I see you again
it would thrill me and dash me
against the rocks of reality
that I was the one you didn’t want to see
and I was the one that spent these few weeks
in mourning, in grief,
somewhere in the memory of the friend
you’d once been