Things are happening. Daily.
I come across new disturbances
in my routine. I am curiously
unsettled. I dress myself
and the clothes fall to the floor.
I scratch my head. Dust
in my hand. All morning
arranging flowers, and for what?
Petals fallen, litter
on the pretty cloth. I march
straightway to the mirror
and shake my fist. My hand
is a blue maraca scattering petals.
I shout my rage
and hear my words praising
the vast goodness of the world.
This is beyond control.
Even so, I am slowly learning one thing;
of one thing I am slowly becoming
aware: whether or not I would
have it so, whether I sleep
or no, I will be changed.
I am changing as we speak. Bless you all.
Suffer the children. Finished. Keep.
Hudgins, Andrew. "Christ as a Gardener" Upholding Mystery: An Anthology of Contemporary Christian Poetry. David Impastato, Ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. 36-37.
3 comments:
I'm not sure where you found that text, but the end is messed up some.
The final move should read:
Even so, I am slowly learning one thing;/
of one thing I am slowly becoming/
aware: whether or not I would/
have it so, whether I sleep/
or no, I will be changed./
I am changing as I speak. Bless you all./
Suffer the children. Finished. Keep.
Even so. Thanks!
oops! brain freeze. i made the change. my apologies. there will probably be a few more of your poems on the blog this month - i will exercise more care with those...
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