I sat down to work and there’s dirt on my table, dirt in my hair don’t even ask about my fingernails— I’ve been digging in a cave, all day, as prophets do— just a child wild for jewels, whining, hungry, tugging at a hem I trust responds. Mud in pie plates packed and smooth looks like chocolate— every white stone a pearl, Lord I’m filthy, I know but I sold everything, I've lost my life. The cave is still dark— call my name, remember? You promised a holiday at the sea.
*This is part 2 in my Lenten 3-part miniseries.
*It’ll conclude next week, and then I hope to share two or three Holy Week poems. Thanks for sticking with me through Lent so far!
I was waiting for part 3 but I can't wait. I know these thoughts. This cave. This desert. This hunger. The whining thirst. I've written of it too. But maybe not with such power.
This is good writing. Thank you.