Monday, February 21, 2011

she just believes in him. there wasn't any other explanation she could offer.

a mother, a lover, a friend.

she couldn't help but see all the glory just ready to burst forth.

wait for it. hold your breath and wait for it.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

kingdom.

i am aching for heaven.
my bones cry out
with the rocks and the sea
for the return of glory,
for the fullness of glory.
my bones, twisted around my muscles
bend with weary burdens
from an undone world.
i am aching for heaven
in the tender depths
of my heart i cry out for more.
bridegroom,
take me beyond the hills
and let us sit under the tree
and whisper.
my affections bend and sway
and my eyes dart to see who is coming.
i want your eyes, beloved,
the singleness of your presence,
the sweet songs of your voice.
in the land of the broken,
i ache for heaven.
to sit at your feet, beloved
and hear the thunder clap at
the command of your voice.
to see your words flow out of
your mouth like ribbon
and wrap themselves around weary hearts
and bent over bodies
and watch life come forth.
i ache for life
when nothing is wrong
save the dull sickness that
i have felt since i first
felt your presence -
how much clearer life is when
your spirit is near -
how much sickness we have
that we never knew.
and spirit, come near.
i need more kingdom in my bones.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

i am being covered in the holy spirit.

the slightest breeze knocks me over.

get back! get back!

liars, thieves, serpents get back!

don't take me one step too far

from the holy of holies.

i am being bathed in purity - bath water for the soul.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

glory be.

submission is no longer a dirty word.

the sunshine makes me want to clean house.

i eat raw cookie dough after work.

beach culture inspires me to be to be dignified,

a lady in a crowd,

a scarf around her head.

submission is no longer a dirty word.

glory be, glory be.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

canopied in purple

the streets now
are lined with trees
blooming purple.

(i've never seen purple trees
before i moved to California.)

the streets are canopied
in purple and
i walk underneath them
with a contradictory sense
of euphoria
and nostalgia,
a pleasant and strange mix
of dreaming and
desperately wanting to go back home.

in the dream,
i have a home.
the walls are crooked
the plaster is uneven
there are dents in the wood
from children we've never met.
in my dream, we have children,
three, daughters.
we walk down the street canopied in purple
in search of an ice cream cone because
in january it is still warm enough for
an ice cream cone as long as there is also
chocolate fudge.

because we determined long ago
to teach them to believe in magic.
that home would be first a fantasy,
and then a stability,
and then, only when necessary,
a place where we pay bills.
and even then, we pay them in the park.
and it is magic to eat ice cream on an idle tuesday,
the same idle tuesday we got married on,
when there is nothing else to celebrate.

and our children will play pretend
and live out stories and
we will add props and glitter
but never the cold hard truth
that the love letters we write in the park
to distant princes
are really just men in suits with square faces
called Insurance and Mortgage.
and they will think that their insurance is our arms
and our mortgage is our bed.