Late Wednesday. My Psalm of healing. For Friday’s class
A Psalm. A Prayer. A Theology.
O sullen divinity of my youth
You took away my legs
O silent god you made me lie down,
Unable to walk. You imprisoned me.
Lord of theft you stole my mother,
Left us without her. Crying without hope.
The abyss swallowed me.
And you let me disappear, fade away.
A blanket held in the depth’s chill.
I shuddered, unable to throw it off.
No joy. No walking with others. I stood alone
Trickster god, wielder of sacred bewilderment.
You had me. Oh. You had me.
And, I knew you not.
After the fallow time had drained the world.
That spring rhizomes, corms, bulbs and tubers awoke.
Shook off winter cold and threw green up, up, up.
Up toward the sky. Crowned it in colors so bright.
Purple crocus, yellow crocus, Grape hyacinth.
Stories of joy. Time to play!
The bees flew in and the bees flew out,
Out to the flowers, into the hive. Out to the flowers.
That ground hog high in the tree. The turtle on pilgrimage.
The dogs. Always. Barking, running, bowing, chasing.
On the garden bed: purpled beets, white onions, green leeks.
Curved beans, firm tomatoes, potatoes, carrots.
Soil clinging to them. The womb.
How could I not hear the sacred music? Take part.
Twirling as a dervish, ecstasy and freedom. Dance.
And you, silent god, still I knew you not.
But the one crowned with flowery garlands,
Tasting of sweet food made in the honeycomb,
This god, fried in my skillet and served with eggs,
Not silent. Not dark. But sacred, yes. Divine.