After the 14th

Something inside me broke–

and it’s been a gathering of shards and scraps since.

I’ve been holding the pieces to my chest

asking God for it to be fixed.

But maybe the shards of glass are just sand

and they’re meant to blow away with the wind.

Perhaps what was broken was intentionally finished

so I may receive what God wants to give.

Sand

The words are what happen

when I’m sliced across the middle

and sand falls out of my body.

 

They swirl and bound

and disperse,

until they settle on the ground,

gentling moving with the wind.

 

Until then, they jump like memories

that pull apart and come back together–

quick– before they disintegrate in your hands

like sand.

 

But to write

is to wring out all the words inside you.

They belong on the ground by the sea.

And if you look up, you realize,

 

you have hollowed out and made room for the stars.

-World Poetry Day 2018

Alternate

Dawn:

smooth sailing

into the waters of August

and a glorious sunset–

 

water blasts

dark abyss

colossal misses

thunder claps

slapping sand

faceless, nameless

time passes

so slowly

possession, obsession

color drained

lost desire

craving higher

 

that initial

heart center

smooth sailing away.