30 September 2009



Before marking your
favorite Bible verse—the
one about eternal hope—
you wash your feet in
tepid water.

At midnight, you think
of me, as you promised to do,
and for a brief moment, our
waves connect and weave a
gentle tapestry.

I tell you in my little girl
voice that I try everyday to
be good. I try to protect you. I
twist my words to make
them politic, so that no one
worries about me and
my crisis.


When Jesus loved me, I had
all of my organs intact, even
the sick ones. When I was his
sunbeam, I kept my desires
secret. My imaginary friends
covered me, beautiful
in shadows.

I forgive Jesus as much as he
tries to forgive me. I cradle
eternal hope in my eye lashes,
my heart strings: my spirit is
hammocked between
sights and sounds, vision over
visibility, and I hope you forgive
me too.

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