Locusts and honey

After years of not getting it

I finally do–

You dip the ravaging

Insect into

The viscous sweet

“Honey,”

He says

“This is how you make the unpalatable work.”

–Luke 7:18-24

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Kittens weights in grams

It is a note on my phone, metonymy for bottomless loss, I call her name every day, aware that lost causes are lost causes are lost causes

How will we ever heal?

How will we be whole again?

I would ask the boy on the other side of the over-priced desk

If I had the heart to keep

Picking my battles

Every day I walk through cold water

First there was the shock-shock, which I would describe as a blanket of cotton, a fog, a zoned-out staggering thing. I am not sure how long this stage lasted, but it began to ebb when the nice women at the crisis center gave my five year old and her sisters their crime-victim quilts, hand-made, with such kindness.

The quilts underlined the permanent nature of the gift–beautiful crime victims. Undoable. Irrevocable.

Our story seemed one way for years, then just as things got safer because we knew and could protect them

The truth rolled over us, applying permanent tattoos everywhere.

I did not realize I had a thrill-seeker, risk-taker issue until the months of hunger, tears, and fighting were over…all technically either lost or a draw. Until after I wrote the book. Until after people began to disappear.

By then I had begun to walk through cold water.

Now I know why I do it. I do it because…I do it because

Because when I walk in cold water I can see you there

Through the dust

The crush of angry humans

The agony of your bedraggled well-wishers.

Your own pain indelible on your bloodied face

Dying for me

Deep

In cold water.

Jennifer the Beautiful

I miss you girl

Miss your sister

Your nieces, nephews, cousins, children

Used to sing

Break-up songs for lullabies

Wish I could write you and me

A happy kind of story instead

No lost loves, no broken promises

Hope changed into

The steady gaze of a man who can build with his own two hands

Homecoming tabernacle

For all us, broken

All the cities of the world

When you were my baby you were always amazing, beautiful, lovable. So much so that I would spontaneously think you had all the cities of the world in your eyes, or put another way– I would give all the cities of the world for you.

I remember when I found out that the people who were taking you from me had a story pock-marked by leaving the laws of love behind.

I worried. I grieved. How would they be there always for you? How could they be picked over me?!? Crazy, messy, overextended, underprepared me?

I got the phrase all the cities of the world from Matthew 4–two heavyweights bargaining over the fate of the world. One aims to buy back his lost love the hard way, the other is trying to get him to take a shortcut.

He doesn’t.

There are no shortcuts to love.

Hold on my dear heart, Rapunzel. Love has always been on your side, even when all this feels so broken.

The rightful King of the world loves you so very much.