I wrote this poem in March.
I really dislike explaining writing. I hope it can speak for itself. Mostly I do not want to tear it apart, or try to fit it into anything.
This is just a poem I wrote when I felt like my back was turned to God---when I knew I needed Him most but could feel Him least. I don't pretend like I understand everything. I had His Truth but it wasn't the life, in my mind, as it had been. I had not realized how hard to it I had become, how it also became monotonous. It never should be like this. His Word should break me down, should melt me, should satisfy. Instead of myself looking for God, He sought me.
Instead of Looking for You
I take to wondering about a light bulb. Again I see this, my eyes shifting
across like a doll’s; instead of looking for you, I position myself constantly staring
backwards into a drilled-out forest as it always disappears, dips
into fading snapshots. Grabbing
for a salty leaf or tearing branch,
or an arm. Sometimes I brood over a knot I could not solve
years before, instead of looking for you. I do whatever I can.
And after I’m done ripping paper or canning out messages,
the flames of a month ago tapping my shoulders still,
I remember.
I wonder how I could have fled from something full, something
real, someone
severed on a cross, still beating. When you find me
I am just a wilting fist of defense,
hardly human.
