Faith,  Featured,  Grief,  Poetry

Shaky Resurrection

It cracked
Loud. All the way open.
My heart tore bridges down in the crashing
Made scratched up waves of concrete into dust
And bedrock didn’t mean a thing – what bedrock?
The counterfeit of solid? Iron rusts.
Ha! My heart found torrid joy in decomposing

It fell.
Quiet. Didn’t know it could.
My spirit ached and rattled with last breathes
Before it closed its eyes and let us drop through disbelief
Where nothing good or holy comes from this
Just pissed upon revivals and prayers that amply missed
Go. Even if its real, it’s sadistic and I want no part in it

It fought.
Tired. Without my consent.
My body took a route I wouldn’t take
Let go of hair and focus, eschewed vitality
But wouldn’t give its ghost up even when it just made sense.
Instead a soft insisting we remain
Sh, not every part of us is dying here today.

I rose.
—fine, staggered—with new wind
And she stitched her veins together with her grief.
And she inhaled skepticism into faith.
And the fight gave way to resting in her ache.
And they wove their arms together and they formed a holy tether
So I rose—fine, staggered—into sacred space.

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