Our legs are jelly, God of my Fathers we need to be lifted and raised our feet are broken, we cannot run nor lift our voice in praise May you show us mercy, high-handed rider may we cease our pawing parade to pray with the bride's veiled voice and Spirit's song we ask you not to delay
I hastily wipe a donkey's spit from atop a baby's face and wonder who taught the ass his wit and holds the worlds in place
what sits in my hands is heavier than I expected harder than I can hold its edges slowly slice my stiffened fingers and splinter fractals into my fingertip whorls I would drop it if I could unclench my frozen hands but I've forgotten how enraptured by its freezing facets I bend over to peer closer my back stretching and setting like plaster of paris left untended until I am turned in on it a warmth from afar glints on my fingernails alights on my hairs and my head caresses my cheeks and burns the ice from my tears I look up to the east, or at least I try to I've forgotten how to look up how to look up? a gnawing squirming worry births itself deep in my gut and strokes its claws with loving malice down my spasming intestines it laughs with my heartbeat you can hear it if you stop but you can't stop or look up until warm fingers cup my chin.
Merry Christmas, Eve
I once sat by a tree that burst with fruit but I lost the path and am now far away did I imagine the tree and the fruit's taste? Perhaps. Perhaps. So now I pray that somehow we could find a way there a way back to the tree, to the fruit this time I would not take but wait I would sit and grow by the root I wish I could return, I wish that there was a way to change to rewind, to do over, to give these blood bought skins in exchange. That foul snake I believed like a fool if instead we received he could be felled. One day long after a woman came to me with a smile, because her belly swelled.
Image Credits: Michael, Johann Siemens, Simon Berger, Lucas Gallone, Annie Spratt, I.am_nah on Unsplash