September 26, 2015
My heart fumbles me forward to collapse
My soul is Hannah’s soul, drunk with weeping.
But no one says,
Woman, take your drunkenness away.
Instead they say,
Hi, how are you?
My sodden hankie is hidden and I smile:
I’m fine, Thank you.
Now together we stand, singing;
Together we kneel, praying;
Together we sit, hearing.
I hope; I need.
I need to hope;
I wait in hope:
Hoping to hear some scrap of hope;
Hoping to hear some bit of beauty;
Hoping for a gentle sifting of the senses,
exchanging heat for cooling grace.
When I leave this sacred place
I will go with senses filled.
Did I come expecting that?
I should have;
I held onto hope.
Those I sang with--
Those I prayed with--
Those I listened with--
Who of them also hid wet handkerchiefs?