Brett's Discernment

I love this poem Dr. Swain shared with us last semester, and I offer it here as a prayer and devotion. I hope to revisit this poem more often.

If you had stayed

Tightfisted in the sky

And watched us thrash

With all the patience of a pipe smoker,

I would pray

Like a golden bullet

Aimed at your heart.

But the story says

You cried

And so heavy was the tear

You fell with it to earth

Where like a baritone in a bar

It is never time to go home.

So you move among us

Twisting every straight line into Picasso,

Stealing kisses from pinched lips,

Holding our hand in the dark.

So now when I pray

I sit and turn my mind

Like a television knob

Till you are there

With your large, open hands

Spreading my life before me

Like a Sunday table cloth

And pulling up a chair yourself

For by now

The secret is out.

You are home.