Grace and Peace to you.
First comes the forgiveness,
your heart laid out like a banquet.
(Later, after the bitter rain, the torrential fire,
it is all that will remain.)
Our betrayal always seems like an accident,
but we’ve already plundered the sanctuary.
Once we’ve lost you,
we find ways to throw you away.
Our fear is just waiting to happen,
the tumor that spreads.
When the shoddy bridge collapses,
we always grab at somebody.
So comes the heart failure,
the drunken stabbing of the lover,
burning the house with the children in it.
So cleverly we outsource our suicides.
How much of our struggle in this world
is our writhing in pain
from the knife of sorrow
over what we have done?
O Lord of mercy,
do not save us from our anguish,
but give us your soft arms
in which bitterly to weep.
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes