Tiny Humiliations

Signing multiple drafts, multiple petitions,
and the waves roll in, past my pen.
Thank God for these bones.
Because of them, I can stand
between the clouds and finish working.

She had a Mennonite name,
and it rang in my brain.
I almost mistook her name
for my own, but then my pen
was out of ink,
and my passions ran dry.

Will no one read these letters?
When we use words like "natural,"
we wish our bones
would soak-up the excess,
the fog above the water.