No Way 

 

If only I could focus 

on the gliding of these thoughts 

over the enchanting machine of anxious grinding, 

a corset digging her ideas of doom 

into my ribs until I cannot breathe. 

 

If only I could glide 

enchanting and calm as a cloud 

past the incantations of friction  

between the graying moon  

and throbbing gulps for air. 

 

If only I could release 

the grip holding on to the relentless hope-- 

braided and knotted to a broken life raft 

that drifts into the deepest currents, 

tortured and tumbling 

with no words 

or texture of language 

to call for help. 

 

My back to the truth, 

I see all the exits 

and no way out. 
 

 Maybe This Is What Forgiveness Looks Like

Today redemption rose out of the ashes 

in the parking lot at the grocery store,

without warning,

rescued me from the flames of my numbness

like a lesson out of nowhere, unexplainable ideas 

looking directly in my eyes,

making me cry in front of strangers

and shopping carts,

reminding me of the liturgy of love

that walks anonymously on the earth

like every other human, lonely as a song,

broken from the lessons we were born knowing.

As often happens, the sky was clear as March can be,

sun warmed and melting like frozen and smiling landscape

into salty puddles near the edges of everything.

Mud can be washed away

from the metal surfaces that protect us

but, to be clear,

expect to get dirt under your nails

when you kneel 

praying in the language of gratitude

for daffodils and small purple crocus.

They will be the salve that heals the lesion

at both your wrists and the bones of each ankle.

They clearly see the wound in your side

that everyone doubts really damaged you

beyond recovery.

Don’t be gaslighted.  It is there. 

Painful beyond anything you’ve ever known.

The miracles never stop delivering hope,

even when you least expect them.

Even if you are petrified of being forgiven.