death – Accepting This

Another Way

This is not working
I am not breathing, in and out like I should
I do not want to live here anymore
in this place where the most vulnerable are
repeatedly victimized
Where brokenness begets brokenness
where weapons are celebrated and defended
more than children
Where protocol or the lack of it
prevents change and assistance
I do not want to live here anymore
inside of this body that carries the weight of
tragedy like it was designed in the shape of a wheelbarrow
and my heart is the set of calloused hands that picks it up
fingernails scraping the dirt beneath it and I can feel every pain
Like the soil that gathers around my cuticles
the dysfunction is relentless
and everyone is telling me to breathe but they
Do not feel what my chest feels like
it is like a burning tightness,
it hurts to breathe in and when I exhale I feel
flooded with sorrow so instead I
hold my breath

Yesterday I said my mind feels like two forks
with the prongs grating together and I am trying
To shake these thoughts loose so that I can sleep at night
but it is all unrelenting
How does one regain control when there is not
a moment to do so?
Even my silence is tormented by memory of the past
and anxiety over the future
I thought that I would have one sacred space in this world
but nothing is immune,
Everything is permeable
and all of this requires an incessant working towards wholeness
or else it becomes fragmented
And I am exhausted
Like the bathroom sink that once was clean
all things require a periodic scrub
all things are seemingly bent towards destruction,
I remember when I first heard the word entropy:
gradual decline to disorder
You were fascinated by it, and I chose to deny it
but now I am not so sure

Tomorrow is the 26th and it would have been his 29th birthday
but he only had 27
I have carried my grief like it could fit in my pocket but it
turns out that it is instead every piece of clothing that I wear
I have convinced myself that it is acceptable but it is not in
any way, shape, or form
I understand the way of death and resurrection in nature, see it all around me
but that does not make my throat soften so that swallowing is not painful
That does not make my body forget what it felt like to tremble on the day that he was buried
I tend to keep myself from writing these words because I don’t
want anyone to feel hopeless
but if I don’t allow them to flow through me like a river
they will flood me until I drown
If I don’t make space for this pain I will soon sink into
a bitterness that cannot be shaken and God, I don’t want to be bitter
because I believe in the tension between all that is beautiful and all that is desperately wicked
so I offer up every racing thought within me
every angry argument and uncalled for reaction
every righteous frustration and selfish motivation
every moment of giving up and giving into the inertia that haunts me
every deep hurt that seems to find no permanent solace
All of the deceit that I did not expect to receive
all of the misunderstanding that I thought wouldn’t be
I offer up everything
Take it, please, just for a moment at least
and If I must carry it again, I will add it to my wheelbarrow of a body
but right now, I must set it all down and see what You might make of it

One Year

February 8th, 2022

It’s as if my thoughts are bound up by the fear of permanence
The idea that if I acknowledge the weight of today
It will sink me into a pool of brutal reality
Where the water turns to ink,
turns to sludge and before I know it
The air that I’m breathing will
morph into a textured sorrow
That resembles something like
quick sand, like a bad nightmare
I could be overcome,
overcome by every emotion that has
been woven through out each of these
365 days with out you on earth

Everyone experiences grief differently
but I believe there are some similarities
like how the phrase
“It comes in waves”
seems to ring true for anyone who
has lost someone that they love deeply

For me,
the waves are still here
Your sister said that
she lives with a lump in her throat
and that is truly what it is like
going on everyday in this place where
we can’t see you

I am torn between reflection and movement
I want to remember you,
to watch videos of you
to listen to your voice and
find photographs that I never knew existed
Want to bring up your name so often
because the truth is that the basis of my being was
built right beside you
My first encounters with joy, adventure, sadness, and concern
were experienced with you
All that which makes this life worth living
are seemingly wrapped up in stories where
you are the main character
the protagonist, the embodiment of vitality
and the ruler in which I measure nearly
every relationship

And then there is movement,
this constant need to keep on going because if
I remain in reflection or even visit it at all
there is the threat that I won’t be able
to continue on, I am working to reconcile
the presence of your spirit and the
absence of your body

The weight of today is like the
weight of the year
It is too much to hold
so I let it scatter,
diffuse into the pockets of time
where I can be still and know
that this Story is still good
It is just drastically different than the one that I wish to read,
It is desperately different than the one that I would’ve written

A year ago today,
I was looking at the ocean for the last time
that I would see it with the part of me that
you took with you in your death
Yesterday, I looked at that same ocean
eyes searching the waves with a hope of
reclaiming fullness
And a simultaneous desire to lose
the rest of myself
All that I know is that
all that is left is what has always been
The only thing worth anything
to love and to be loved
to find rest in the impossibility
The assurance that death leads to life
time and time again

The waves are still here
They are angry and crashing,
cyclical and comforting,
weeping and restoring,
Always seemingly surrendering
I will learn from them
I must learn from them

Nine Months One Week

nine months, one week
I can’t help but to mark my life by
the days that pass by without you here
tonight I cooked dinner
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve cooked dinner since you left
I used to love to cook,
I’d research recipes for hours
I’d cook new things every week
I’d listen to music and sing while I
chopped onions, listen to stories and
sermons while I sautéed
And when you left, I stopped really
not intentionally
It just kind of happened

In the months right after
I gave away nearly all of my stuff
sold my home
started out on what I tried to claim as
adventure, wanted to fully live in every
moment, yet for so many of those
moments, I didn’t want to live at all
After a slew of events both good
and very bad
I am here
in our new apartment
and I cooked dinner
on my own, while I listened to voices
that encouraged me
to both hold on and to let go
The skin on my hands grew tight from
the butternut squash,
my senses grew alive from the scent
of cayenne and turmeric
The vegetable broth splashed on my
striped shirt
and still, I cooked

The apartment is mostly empty
since I sold all of our shelving
and we don’t have a dresser yet
for our clothes
This all feels like a sort of
starting over, beginning again
yet I feel so old
exhausted and worn down but
alive somehow
I want to keep going
and I want to keep cooking
I want to be like these many
windows that let the November light in
There is such great sadness in
the people that I love and within myself
and it is in many of those I’ve
come to know
I want to believe that it is not
stealing life, that it is actually making
all things more meaningful
I have found that when I place it
in the hands of God I can see it
differently, it doesn’t make me feel it
any less but I can watch as it takes
shape into something
The days stack up and fall apart again
the work gets hard then wears thin
the seasons change then the weather stays the same
winter sun on bare branches
I am raw like them until I get leaves again
until I cook again
until I become full again

For the Love of God

lissy tropea jordan · For The Love Of God

For the love of God
Stop politicizing your faith
The God of the nations does not identify with your sides
The God of the galaxies is not concerned with your categories
For the love of God, stop speaking so much
sit in the discomfort of silence and examine your heart
Stop projecting, expecting more from others than you give yourself,
stop painting a picture of how you want to be seen
in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of guilt or prove your personal goodness,
stop denying, stop condemning;
You are not a righteous judge.
Human, think of the conflicts within yourself
the areas of your thinking and believing that
you cannot reconcile or redeem
Do you want reconciliation and redemption?
Surely, you will not find it within
you cannot go a few days with out
opposition and pain
You inflict problems simply by existing,
lay down your pride
And understand that you are not the answer
you are the problem.

You seek your own comfort over the well being of your neighbor
you focus on the materialistic, superficial, and transient
you make idols out of lust, money, dreams, and passions
you lie for your own gain, you love for your own satisfaction
Do you truly believe that a collection of your own thoughts and ideals would bring
hope to the most broken and desolate parts of your country, your world?
You have not defied death or disease,
You have not conquered the grave,
no, you are headed for death and on a
consuming path of destruction
Everything you can hold in your hand will soon rust,
and those intangible accomplishments that you identify with
Are of no greater value than dust
If you are remembered at all after you are gone from this earth,
you will have no knowledge of what they will say or believe
About who you were, or what you did
And if you knew, would that be enough?
You are not satisfied with the words that they tell you now,
their praise and approval does not remedy the ache and void inside of you

Human, each day your body is weighed heavy by the pressure
of aging, the elements of time and space are working together
To prove your fragility and your mortality
Do you see how great of a predicament you are in
with out Grace?

Apart from Christ, there is no good
There is simply fleeting pleasure and
hollow contentment
With out the atoning blood of Jesus
you are left to your own devices
to your own efforts,
emotions, disappointments,
successes, memories, mistakes,
futile attempts at building something that will last
that cannot last,
that will burn up and
if anything at all
simply and solely be a part of the
past
Human, sit with your soul
attempt to cradle the wounds and complexities
of this strange existence,
Slow down for a moment and face the
reality of the grandeur of the skies and
the smallness of your being

I choose the everlasting,
I choose the abundant life
the one that is not dependent upon anything that I have done or will do –
The one that is given full and complete meaning
because of the perfect life of a man,
who was and is God, who was killed
who bled vibrant, pulsing blood for the
nature of my being that
was enslaved by sin
but designed for communion

I live in wholeness now,
because of the breath that returned to his body
and the purpose that was restored to me –
completely and fully alive now,
no longer defeated by the daily
anxiety and hopelessness of the temporary
I live in truth now,
I can see the world for what is is now,
an aching collection of breathing bodies
and immortal souls that will not stop
killing, lying, stealing, fighting,
dying, mourning, crying, deceiving,
breaking, aging, enslaving, and groaning…

Until, the glory of God is revealed
And the nations are healed
and every tongue declares
Jesus; savior of the world.

How do I live now? I pursue Him now,
what does he require of me?
To do justice, to love kindness,
to walk humbly with my God

Have you grown weary yet,
of eating and never becoming full?
Of drinking, only to thirst again?
The hunger within you will
only be satisfied when you no longer
Eat of this world

For the love of God,
dismantle your pride,
turn your eyes

Dissatisfied?

Your longing cannot be satisfied by a certain acceptance,
it cannot be extinguished by a set of belongings, a state of security,
or a romanticized relationship
In your most perfect day,
your best travels, your most loving moment of intimacy,
you will still yearn and the inmost part of your being will not
settle into contentment like you’ve convinced yourself it should

You will be constantly wanting, reaching, striving,
you will not find an eternal joy on this earth
Even the most serene moment is laced with sorrow
this life ends with death, as do most of our elated emotions
After health comes sickness
after community comes desolation
after prosperity comes lacking
after relief, another burden appears
Aren’t you exhausted?
Aren’t you afraid?
Aren’t you wondering why your best efforts are inadequate,
why your greatest pursuit turns up void?

The depth of God’s character can be made known to you,
the vast measures of his love can be made real to you
To no longer live with a crushed spirit,
to no longer bask in the temptation of self-pity,
or base your existence off of self-sufficiency, self-indulgence,
to no longer measure your worth with an underlying taste of self-depreciation,
self-abuse, or self-hate
If it is freedom you are after, take hold of this redemptive offering
The blood of Jesus gushing out for you like an ocean wave crashing at the shore
your name on his lips as he breathed his last breath
and your name on his heart when he rose to life after a brutal death
do not let this act of ultimate love be a fake tale or some far off history
entertain the thought that this might be the only reality

Will you be hindered by modern culture and mistakes of organized faith?
Will you be convinced by hidden pride that you are in control of your soul, your life?
December has been slathered in consumerism and nostalgia,
the months to follow, set-up on goals and priorities, which you will fail to keep
and continually misalign
the spring will come with movement and growth,
and you might miss the symbolism of all of creation coming to life again and
summer will distract with events and some type of temporary hope kindled by the heat
autumn will come and the leaves will change
and then it will be winter again, and when yet another year has come and gone
what will you have to say of it?

The years will pass,
you will age
you will lose the people you love and the money that you have saved
you will feel glaring moments of sadness, fleeting moments of joy
you will accomplish things that will soon be forgotten,
and you will build things that will rust and eventually be destroyed
What will you have left,
when all good things come to an end?
What will you have left,
when your body fails and you give up your last breath?

This is a plea to those I love,
to those I have yet to meet
Don’t waste this life when you could live
in the most tender care of a King
One who will transform your weakest attempt
into a miracle of grace and redeem your bruised body
to be an eternal reflection of his glory

Through out these days of living in a state of groaning,
I rest assured knowing
that I was made to be known and to be loved by him
and I was made to know and to love him
and this simple declaration satisfies every longing
it settles my soul, gives life to my bones

–

This poem was inspired by a sermon titled “The Wounded Spirit” by Timothy Keller, probably one of my favorite sermons ever. Listen to it here. Read it here.

Twelve Years

For twelve years the sun has risen
and the sun has set
there have been twelve hot green summers
turned into crisp and colorful autumns,
For twelve years we have gone forward
wanting to be where you have been

My fear, if left unattended
turns into a frigid tightness in my chest
I lay in bed pushing away thoughts of loss,
I can’t bring myself to believe in the false security
of his breath rising and falling next to me
I shut my eyes tight
but I can’t shake the feeling
that all good things are ending
that someday I might wake up
and later that day, have to fall asleep
with out him beside me

My dread, if not bolted down by hope
will come in the form of irritability
will settle in like a blanket of sorrow
an unwelcome uneasiness, lining the thought of tomorrow

My anxiety, turns from a raging ocean
into a steady bay
Sometimes the wind picks up,
but it won’t be long until I’m calm again

I have not been left in the casket of my fear, dread, or anxiety
Just like you have been given more life than I have ever known
the same God that has made you immortal,
removes the sting of death from me

I move through life with the thought of heaven
anchoring my heart and breathing peace into every part of me
If one believes that we don’t go on living,
then what would the purpose of these years, like mist, be?

My fear is not stamped out by worldly remedies,
it is healed by the design of a God who sent a savior to die for me
My dread and dissatisfaction only exist when I lose focus of His
grace and prominence
How humbled I become,
when I acknowledge my quickness to forget
that this world is only a shadow
and He has called me out of denial

I do not want to lose any more of the people that I love,
but how wonderful to rest in the assurance that those who have gone
are not actually lost
The world might label this faith as the loss of freedom
but I would argue to say that this is freedom at the core
to no longer be controlled by my fear of death,
to no longer rot in the depth of my selfishness,
to no longer allow sadness to consume my joy
to live in the liberty of a redeemed existence
followed by life eternal,
where there is no more death
or mourning, crying, or pain

There is no time to be wasted,
no time to hold onto bitterness or self-righteousness,
no time to ignore the way that rust eats and bodies age
There is beauty in everything if we submit,
but there is only pain if we reject
This life is just the in between
the race preparing us for the next

Twelve years are like a fleeting memory in comparison to eternity
twelve years, half of my lifetime at this moment
and I am not guaranteed one more day
Let the fragility of this life lead us to cling to the author of salvation,
let it guide us to love like there is no act of greater importance

The loss of you, revealed the greatest truth:
What is seen is temporary
What is unseen is eternal

Reasoning

To live in simple moderation,
to accept what I could have changed
to look away at the sight of dysfunction or demise
to fall asleep to the distraction of a screen and
wake up to the rhythmic habits of my own world
Even in this generic approach,
I cannot deny the intensity of life

The weather rages and the stories never end,
the intricacies of photosynthesis in the trees
and the psychology behind a human mind
the endless combination of words in millions of books
each making a new and unique character
I cannot pretend to grasp the largeness of life

The injustice in our laws,
the contradictions in our nominal faiths
the little lies and snide remarks
in our daily conversations

The traffic, a sight of frustration
the ocean, a glimpse of peace
holiday mornings with their nostalgia
and the disappointment of time gone too fast

The pleasure in symmetry,
the components of anxiety
the fear of sickness and the
longing for death or dreading of dying

We must not stay distracted,
or we will miss the point
everything on earth is a foreshadowing of
what is to come or a consequence of what has happened

We must not settle for what our culture has deemed appropriate,
just a little bit of religion or a lot of distraction
materialism and busyness racing in to hold our attention
good works as our redemption
substances as our prevention of feeling deeply
or our means to stay afloat

Shouldn’t an entire world history
and continued actions of
slavery, genocide, and destruction
lead us to believe
we are innately sinful,
and in desperate need of saving?

We are quick to identify
the terror brought on by others
yet slow to recognize the hate
and conflict in our own hearts
I have a hard time seeing how the
world will change
if we refuse the transformation of our
own hearts, minds, souls

I could resort to nihilism,
fall into cynicism,
live this one life with no thought of the next
I could say that all things go,
avoid confrontation through assimilation
but I would first have to deny the artist who created all good things,
I’d have to choose a gaping void over the deepest satisfaction,
the most clear answer to my endless aching

This is a not so subtle reminder
that moths and rust destroy
life moves quickly and what do we leave when we go,
a legacy of family, distracted and busy?
I look to Christ as my hope
a sure and steady anchor,
a purpose for my soul

But when I look to Him,
I’m confronted and convicted of a reality within
his words are not isolated anecdotes of comfort and peace,
they are like fire, burning and refining
“O for grace to discard all hypocrisy,
and to be found of Him sincere and without rebuke…”
How deep the rest that abides in me,
when I surrender everything
I admit to my ignorance,
welcoming your wholeness in my weakness
I wrestle with the absurdities of life
and even my anger with you
but I won’t bask in distraction,
busyness with no real action
Your words are sharp and cutting,
yet your embrace is so sweet.
There is no explanation for living
if I deny you as my King

Humanity moves forward,
clenching on to the past and vying for the future
I remember the truth that each person has been made
in the image of the god that I believe to be true
I acknowledge the mysteries and long to know more of you,
and I refuse to give this faith only a small part of me,
it is either everything or nothing at all.

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance,
and if true, of infinite importance.
The only thing it cannot be is moderately important.”

–

quotes by charles spurgeon and c.s. lewis

The Things You Carried

Inspired by John 19.28-37

–

When you go to the cross,
will you take my shame?
I’m living in leftover layers from my past,
consumed by oceans of regret,
caught up with what I should
and should not have said

When you go to the cross,
will you take my pain?
my flesh fails, my body aches
my hands are weak,
they often shake
my anxiety, it creeps up on me
makes a home in the back of my neck
snakes around my nerves
and strangles my dexterity
many days there is not much left of me

When you go to the cross,
will you take my loss?
flashing visions of the ones I’ve loved,
tremor through my mind in moments of panic
I see their mouths gasping for breath
I call out to them, don’t go
not yet

When you go to the cross,
will you take my pride?
I hate the way it controls my life
sneaking into every scenario,
claiming ownership over my disposition
calling attention to my selfish condition

When you go to the cross,
will you take my sorrow?
It’s rooted so deep in me,
pulling apart those moments of joy
like a frayed fabric, I want the whole
piece but it won’t let me have it

When you go to the cross,
will you take my sin?
I’m a wreck and I always have been
a part from you I’m left in the mire
covered in ashes, headed to a blazing fire

My separation from you is real in this moment
the darkness sets in the hour of your crucifixion
it was my mocking voice that put you on that cross
and then your skin was broken, you bled for us

After one last bitter sip,
you cried the words “It is finished”
your body hanging bare and beaten
your mercy for me made alive
in your death you have made me new
this sacrifice I cannot undo

When you rise from the dead,
will you remember my name?
I am your child,
you have made me that way.

Red Lettered Death

Inspired by John 12.20-36
Encouraged by John Piper, Dying as a Means of Loving

–

I’ve always known the red letters were sacred
and when I read them to myself I would try to deepen the tone
of my voice in my head, to make them sound more like Jesus
to make something or someone distant, feel a little closer

And in my dark moments of depression
when I clung to disobedience in fear that
following you would leave me more empty
I may have echoed the words of the Greeks at the feast,
“I wish to see you”
Many times I made the request,
Many times you revealed yourself and I turned away,
caught up in sorrow, persuaded by the need to save
To save someone on my own,
with my own strength

And in my elated moments of pride and false contentment,
I may have echoed those ancient words again
tossing my plea like a coin to a fountain
not knowing that your presence requires death

I remember the day that I committed to following you,
preceded by a lifetime of arguing, doubting,
surrendering and taking it back,
questioning, pondering, watching and waiting,
and finally saying
make me into something new,
take my life I give it to you.

I was a grain of wheat
fighting my fall to my death,
thank God for the moment that I finally gave in

I gave in to your grace and my death
led to Life,
I wish to see you Jesus
for who you are and not what I’ve made you out to be
I wish to know you Lord,
in the intricate ways that you have known and loved me

As you laid your life down for me,
teach me to do the same
Every day dying to self,
Heaven is my gain

As you shed your red blood for me,
spoken in red letters on paper to see
Dismantle my pride and obsession with
shortcomings,
Conquer my desire for earthly things,
put my selfishness to a red death
by a crucified King

Make me Like Mary

Inspired by John 12.1-11

–

Mary poured out her oil onto your feet,
your skin saturated and slippery
the fragrance of holiness catching the senses of
all in that home in Bethany
Lazarus was breathing again,
his life felt real and awake as he inhaled,
exhaled the glory of your existence
Martha could smell it from the kitchen,
where she joyfully wept while washing dishes
her heart raw from the death and life of her brother
could these days be compared to any other?

Judas, angry and appalled
why would so much value be
emptied, couldn’t one drop be enough?
It was not the poor he was worried for,
it was the selfishness of his own heart

I am Mary kneeling at your feet,
I am Lazarus brought to life by your mystery,
I am Martha weeping at the thought
of your sacrifice for us and submission to the cross
I am Judas, trying to get by
only giving you bits and pieces of my insufficient life

I am the crowd that came to see,
who you really were and what miracles were complete,
I am the skeptic and a sheep
You spoke for all to hear,
and you called me

Jesus, renew me
make me clean
I want to wave the palm branches and cry out to my King
Hosanna, Hosanna
Don’t let me forget
about your death
the time that you lived and died on this earth
Your resurrection soon to come,
but I will dwell on the darkness that you endured
to know the weight of your devotion
to gauge the magnitude of your wounds
to understand the capacity of your love for me

Make me to be like Mary
kneeling at your feet
“There I lay my sins and sorrows,
and, when weary, find sweet rest.
Sitting at the feet of Jesus,
there I love to weep and pray,
while I from his fullness gather grace and
comfort every day.”

Make me to be like Mary,
giving you everything I have and love,
keeping nothing from you,
resting my forehead on your anointed feet,
you have come to rise and to raise me

Make me like Mary,
kneeling at your feet

Because of a Mustard Stain

I missed you the most
when I put on your plaid denim shirt
looked in the mirror and saw a mustard stain in the reflection
It made me think of hot summer days and eating hot dogs
Visions of you laughing and stirring potato salad flooded my mind
and I wanted you to be here again
I wanted to run to the freezer in the back room and grab
a popsicle to soothe the flushed feeling that fell on my face
at the thought that you cannot be here again

Your absence brings an ache larger than a missing person
When you left here you took an entire era,
my childhood was wrapped up in your existence
showered with boston cream pies and birthday cakes
I want to give to others the way you gave
I want my home to be like yours

The beginning days with out you were sticky
and frozen together by winter air and an odd adjustment
to a different kind of living where my worries of you would be
extinguished by melancholy peace
The days ahead will be riddled with thoughts of you,
the desire to talk with you

I’ve been dreaming of you nearly every night,
reminded that you are now more than alive
let the reality of heaven steal away the gloom
the empty moments where I miss you
The knowledge of your state produces a
joy greater than pain
a fragrant contentment like the scent of your
leftover laundry detergent

Our apartment is now home to your old
windowsill plants,
They traveled with you from arlington to amissville,
back to arlington with me and soon to amissville
again they will be
Irony is alive in this life,
we go from child to later become childlike,
with the weakening of bones and the
deterioration of strength
You had so much fear but you
held fast to your faith

I believe I learned how to truly pray because of
my prayers with you
kneeling down beside your bedroom chair,
holding your hands in mine
hearing the heaviness of your lungs pulling in
a breath, and the most holy name rolling off of your lips
you would whisper his name “Jesus, Jesus”
you said his name like a friend,
like the comforter he is
and I would pray as your whispers became the chorus,
God let us see beyond circumstance
let us trust beyond capacity
let us be near to You more than anything

I learned that prayers when you are sorrowful,
prayers when you are sick, can be uttered with
desperation and met with surpassing peace
Just say the name, “Jesus, Jesus”

When you were overwhelmed with suffering,
body fighting the pull of death
My mother said that just as entering the earth is painful,
so is leaving it

The difference here is that the life to come after
won’t be one of peaks, highs and lows
No, the life that is to come is incomparable
I think God uses contrasts
He shows us the darkest pit to reveal the truth
of the most glorious heaven

On the night that you left,
my terrified anger mellowed out into a deep trust,
my husband said that we could do one of two things;
question why a good god would allow suffering like this
or thank our good god that it doesn’t end like this

Thank you Lord that this is not the end
Thank you Lord that you said “Come to me
weary and burdened, and I will give you rest”
We are weary and burdened, you will give us rest
She was weary and burdened,
you took her from this life to the next,
The heavens are rejoicing and
every sweet memory declares your sovereignty

Still Intact

Let my words be large, let them overflow because my
Dreams are saturated and enlightened and I need to grab
on to something now

The man I love told me that my emotions are compulsive but my actions are methodical,
so let that be true, let me feel deeply but act in patience, in worthy commotion
I want to give, that’s the core of it
he said being selfish is exhausting and
everthing in me agrees

My heart is breaking and simultaneously being repaired,
each moment of realization that she is decaying
and too many things are toxic, and challenging
my heart sinks beneath the surface and succumbs to
hopelessness and then it rips its way back up to the
light again, strapping itself up with encouragement
My God is Greater, my eyes seek Heaven, my soul knows rest

So rolling forward with bandages on wounds, regaining strength with
Each new hope and possibility (solely found within the realm of
believing) I take my thoughts and I marinate them in truth and I speak
them back to myself as best as I can

I spent five days wandering hospital hallways,
I saw the brittleness of reality and the opposition of health,
And then I spent five days on the road, traveling with a dear soul and
I saw the world in ways I never have before
and even in new perspective I can get swallowed up in old trains of thought
and even in virginia mountains, tennessee alleys, and texas deserts
I can see that I am small but the desire to live greatly is embedded deep within me
I know that my sentience is only developed through experience

To live greatly does not mean largely,
no, I do not need more than I have
To live greatly means to live in empathy,
to live with kindness and a capacity to see differently,
to live with flexibility, I have my dreams but I’ll be alright if they
are taken from me
To live greatly is to live selflessly, to stop saying “God make something of me”
and to begin to live in the identity that He has already given me
Free, adored, consecrated, new

I am new each morning because of His redeeming glance towards me,
and how can I avoid speaking about this grace in my poetry?
It is the greatest thing, and with all of this ridding of the unnecessary I am left
with the bare bones of life and my God is the spine

My grandmother has called me her Rock, but I am a small stone
her life has been full and I try to absorb
every sound that echoes from her,
from the spoken memories of her Italian childhood,
to the movements that she makes
when the sun is first rising, and I can hear her slippers shuffling
through the crack of the door of our shared bathroom

Time is fleeting and my small revelations of existing cannot slow it down,
with an aching heart I’ve read love letters of past lives, I’ve watched new
uncertainties develop, I’ve seen injustice rise up like a plague,
I’ve gotten swept away in worry, doubt, and fear
and through all of these things, Time is fleeting

Let my heart break and be repaired, the days will follow as they always do
let my shaky voice settle in the confidence that this place is not our final home
let my prayers be consistent and ever reigning over the temptation to stay discouraged
To live greatly is to live overwhelmed and still intact

Not a Draft

My own body had to stop me,
time has been moving too quickly
hours feel like minutes, and before I know it they are gone
You are gone now
And it’s odd now

Stepping through reality like a daydream,
there’s too much to be done to just stay here
Guilt keeps coming upon me,
wrapping its uncomfortable presence around me
like a blanket but I’m already too warm

Guilt for not being there, for every moment spent away
when you are mourning I want to lay with you
Hold your hand, hold your heart, hold your head up

I’ve kept myself from writing, because these words should be of you
They should be about loss, about your body when it was here and
lifeless and I saw it and it broke me up
they should be about legacy, and a life lived well
and these words are just letters strung together
they cannot weigh as heavy as my heart, they cannot
contain the tone of your trumpet playing off
of a scratchy cassette in the light of stained glass windows,
lingering throughout that cold church on a hill top in maryland

Now, I’ve come back to these words with more to say
How do I convey the speed of these days, all melting into each other
lines bent like heated clay, I think I am content
but then again, I am sinking beneath the face of
commitment and I’ve got to come up for some air

If it weren’t for you, O God
I would be nothing
Not in the sense that I am now something, or that I am a success at all,
I’m a mess of a human, but if it weren’t for you my soul would be
like a bag of wet sand, gritty and slumped into a
stagnant shape sopping with sorrow and anxiety, but God you have saved me
from myself

I reach out for something to hold on to,
loneliness has always encamped herself around me
forever in my line of sight,
I feel her when driving on the highway
and before falling asleep at night
I feel her when I talk to someone, and I really like
what they have to say, but I know their words will come
to an end, and silence will occupy what once was their space

My grandfather loved me, I saw it in his eyes
his love alone rests on the outer edges of my aching heart
when I awake in the morning,
the leftover feeling of his absence cracks into
a thin film of sentiment and manipulates my
day into a constant glance towards heaven

It’s true, this place isn’t my home
It’s not yours either
so even if I’m always overwhelmed, I know it cannot be forever.

Is this enough for me? Can I at least let go of these stanzas above?
they still do not yet feel quite good enough
I’ll have to allow myself to take more days
and I haven’t forgotten about you, and I won’t forget about you
and I haven’t said enough, but I’ve already said too much

A love poem

love and admiration are two very different things,
their coexistence is not rare but it is distinct.
I admire the way you allow your father to speak to you,
even when each word strikes a nerve and resembles
the early mornings, walking to school,
when you would toss a mold covered english
muffin into the trees behind his town home.

love and admiration are divided
when care taking becomes a heavy burden,
like a sack of flour on a slaves shoulders –
he bears it, but it’s ability to become something more
will never be his to take and enjoy

I love you when your hands are too heavy to lift,
and the nurses outside the door are aggravated because
you’ve fumbled over the help button on your
life line remote hanging on the plastic bars of your bedside
one too many times

I love you with each forkful of store bought chocolate cake
that I lift to your mouth, and I pray
that your tongue would bring you life
That your tastebuds would ignite
the memories of when I admired you,
and fed you every evening after work
and fed you dessert, when you could use your own hands with out help

I admire you when you walk me through crowded hallways
and bustling kitchens, through laundry rooms and
construction sites, and lead me to the elevator to send
me on my way

Love is not circumstantial
it does not ride on actions,
or hinge onto emotion
Love outlasts and outlives admiration

Although admiration means the world
It means lighting up because someone else is brighter
It is selfless in it’s wholeness and although often temporary,
it is sweet and seemingly taken for granted

I am living in a state of admiration – or at least attempting to be,
I’ve got this new kind of emptiness beginning to grow within me
distance has put into perspective the most important parts
of my existence, but I’m trying to admire it –
I’m trying not to ache for what used to be,
I’m trying not to be anxious for what has yet to come,
I’m trying not to let any days go to waste

but sometimes all of my trying leads to an organized chaos
my efforts will never be enough to keep
a steady distance from slight implosion

When you’re angry, I love you
when you are cooking in the kitchen with a towel slung over your shoulder
and humming along to duke ellington, I admire you

When you’re leaning forward on a wicker chair,
speaking to me of your greatest memory
in your most sad time, while you twirl your
golden hair glimmering in the fluorescent porch light
I love you, I admire you

You are here one day, and might be gone the next
but so am I, we’re like the wind and the mist, and
all things that come and go

You are here always, and when your body goes
your thought will stay
I don’t think I will ever wake up to remember,
that in each new day my heart will again break

A love poem for the empty days,
for the waiting, and for the many faces and
souls existing in another soul’s world
I love you, I admire you

years later

let my heart rest,

although time runs through my fingers
like liquid, or grains of sand
although each moment gains momentum
and my whole soul weighs heavy at the sound
of silence, or the sound of her voice
(I am older now than you ever were)

let my heart rest,
because the night can come smooth
or it can steal, darkness can be the overcoming
abyss that it is
but my heart, it will rest,
because years later I am echoing the
hope that has been written across my
bones and the vision of eternity becomes
more real with each passing day

It’s easier to become numb, and to let
the ache form callouses and corruption
of feeling and it’s no longer freeing
But this time, I’ve been broken up
and aware again* of the ability of loss and
(AGAIN*, all the things of today arise and remind me of old:
Pink Lilies smell like Funeral Homes Pink Lilies smell like Funeral Homes
That is NOT Her, she is NOT there, Her body was just a case for her soul
We Lost We Lost We Lost Gone Gone Gone)
The terror of grief and that
seemingly god-forsaken moment in the night
where gloom and desperation
charge at the idea of ever hoping again

The state of despondency is my greatest fear,
lurking at my bedside when I fight to get up in the morning..
and how my heart aches, so deeply and intensely
when I see that fear approaching the ones I love
and I can’t help but to cry out to God
to throw myself in between and pray that
my weary growl will scare it off from ever
grabbing a hold of someone else’s heart

There is a multitude of emotions
that trample over the people left after death
A range of detestable sentiments
and they will not leave you unscathed

But I will still say; hold onto hope,
destruction has no reign here
Do not let your heart
become hardened with worldly time
Let your heart rest,
for with every ounce of pain
there is new hope and wholeness multiplied.

years later, I am sitting by a fire,
listening to voicemails that are not hers,
and aching all the same
because I remember the longing that comes after loss

years later, I am seeing her absence
as more of a normality
and it breaks me up,
but this is no time to be broken

I am not a hopeless being,
and neither are you
lay down my doleful spirit
and pick up joy again
my heart is, and will always be at rest
so that yours can someday find fullness again