someone had cut down the cross
that earth-shaking, soulchain-breaking
echo lost… what if?
Who am I, then
to bury my hands (hide them)
in pockets deep
before carrying the dank, rank soil of shame?
Even such waste
can grow a flower.
Brokenness and shame, words that are now in the front lobes of our ‘helping conversations,’ make us ask what is true – about brokenness and grief and shame. What is taboo? How do we navigate toward health and wholeness? My poem is meant to convey, that under God’s tutelage, those things that pain us most, can be worked for our, and others’ good. Perhaps I did not say it exactly ‘right,’… but I am more concerned that it be true. It takes careful hands – starting with those beautiful nail-scarred ones of Jesus to sift the soil of our brokenness. If the poem was of interest, perhaps you would like to read:
2 Corinthians 1:3-11
Your comments are welcome. jfig