Becoming Clay

Becoming Clay

                          

Stacked upon the shelf,

my emotions, spent and raw.

Dark are they now,

and bland—

I cannot feel anymore.

Whispers of my soul

lay broken in a mess I cannot fix myself.

If I were to blow a final deep, aching breath

the shards would fly away like dust.

A single tear slides down my cheek,

like a match across my heart,

reminding me to feel—

reminding me of what I cannot lose.

It falls to the ground

reaching the dust of my brokenness.

And in the silence,

hands caked with the mud of humanity

reach for me,

His grip unafraid of the cold reality of what I am.

A low, loving murmur breaks the dead air,

a voice confident and sure,

"Now I have something to work with."

Copyright 2005 Jennifer Wagner