• Faith,  Life,  Poems,  Poetry

    KonMari-ing Trauma

    Thank you for the wrecking, the undoing, tears and rips And the way that you committed to your most savage whims Thanks so much for craving the unmarked skin on me And leaving me with scars to keep and throb in memory Thank you for the lessons in betrayal of myself And teaching me to grovel, beg, forget to ask for help I appreciate your tolerance as I clung to remnants of my worth Your patience til the shame was set and you knew it would endure Thank you for the questions I never thought to ask And the gentle way you coated them with answers made of wax Thank…

  • Beauty,  Faith,  Family,  God,  Grief,  Life,  Love,  Motherhood,  Poems,  Poetry,  Worship

    Beam Hallelujah

    The beams reach high—to you As if you are not here, in the pew But you don’t mind it You come how we’re able Hallelujah The cross up there reminds me of the ones you put all over Torture as a decoration, hallelujah Like the one you pained for me at that pottery shop When I got myself baptized And Grandma Betty thought it was a waste You were my sanctuary—are? Do I still get to say that? While I learn to stand on the legs you knit for me in your womb? Which sort of makes them yours, I guess And I like that thought, hallelujah And I hope…

  • Friends,  hope,  Life,  Love,  Motherhood,  Poems,  Poetry

    An Attempt

    It will not stop a war now, but I’m gonna love my kid I’ll tell her every day that she’s got the things we need So she’ll believe the truest thing I know If I have any say (That power flexes big and tall, but hope and beauty strike it) It will not jam the guns up, but I’m gonna kiss my man Let our limbs wrap all around for to do what arms are made Worship the Imago Dei, not burst it into shrapnel If I have any sway We’ll hold each other when we’re scared and make ourselves more whole It will not soothe a leader’s greed, but…

  • Poems,  Poetry

    Eugene

    “Unforced rhythms” says the version we’re allowed to accept now That the author is dead and we found out That his heretical words didn’t do any harm But undid quite a lot—brought forward the Love that book meant —for some of us Others hope he rots in hell Why do we work so hard to protect what we make up? Was Jesus just another cult leader? Setting up another thing to keep alive, whatever the cost —blood and self-abandonment the first in line? Revolutions like the ones we need are not won with war Or euphoria Or right doctrine Or ritual They revolve around the solution. A re-love-elution Bathing in…