REVISITING THE CLINIC- a poem
Revisiting the Clinic
We touched on these aching ruins
cars and more cars ago,
carrying dense cargo in an intimate hold,
the tour of our reckless year,
cruising in a rattle-trap: the palace for a bed,
and bedding marked our stops until
my oven warmed to bear a Melody of Gold.
But we spurned her for thirty pieces of silver.
Here that long ago I gave my womb and crushed it.
Here I parted ways estranged, empty hips and vacant.
Here I stooped to find my place under dirt.
Here the arm of the Lord reached an untouchable with words,
"He careth for you" that turned out to be true.
Today Jesus makes a healing paste of spit and stucco.
Today we press our prayers against this desolation.
Today we grieve into this vomiting earth
where our life began.