Friday, August 27, 2010


Sometimes, dear God,
the pain is so great
that it slows my heart in mid-

Sometimes these dog days
stretch so listlessly, so interminably
that I cannot see September

Sometimes small words -
"I'm afraid she's not quite ..."
- carry the heaviest weight
dropping stone-like
into the well
of my

In the torpor of midsummer
sometimes I don't know which way to turn
to find a cool breath of relief

And though I know You are there,
I am too fatigued
to lift my eyes to You

Cradle my heart
in Your two hands
like I do my baby's sweet face

and I will see the scars
and remember how You hung
in limbo


until Your perfect
unhurried purpose
for her
for me
was accomplished

Tea and rice pudding - wee comforts on a summer evening


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