Today, You are saltines and gatorade
And I drink You
Sitting cross legged on the floor
Apart from Your body,
Apart from the gentle nods of elders in aisles,
Apart from dimmed lights and acoustic guitars,
From subdued coughs,
From whispered shushings,
From crinkling bulletins
Today, I feed from You
Joined only by a suckling babe
That precious flow, white as snow,
Leaving me to fill him
With fullness and perfect rest
In weariness, I search the silent room,
The unswept floor, the slumbering dogs,
Jealous for that rest
That peace of body,
That fullness of faith,
Of a babe in arms
You hold me against You
My callow spirit flails
Forgetting, over and over,
That all You require
Is that I cling to You,
Tilt my head,
And feed
Written in February 2021. We had just begun to return from the pandemic, but I was home nursing a sick baby, watching church service on my iPad. I felt at peace by the time I finished writing it.
everyday life, faith, freestyle, non-rhyming, parenthood, short
