by J.D.

Woman who

was wise

Was new

Was first

Was equal

Walked tall

Who would not stay

When once or maybe twice

She wished to mount and

Ride on top

Wild and free

But was denied

by J.D.

Put no claim on the holy,

For we are as vulnerable as the field mice

Playing among the tall grasses

Hiding beneath the strawberry vines

For God roars in with the morning,

Spilling the new day’s pain over his shoulder

And all we can do

Is all we have ever done.

Open ourselves to the light

When it comes;

Let light enter us

Until we become the Flame

the Burning Bush

by J.D.

And she wrote

And wrote

 

The words of her life

 

On ecru paper

 

  In blue ink

 

And when she died

 

  They found them

 

  Papered on her bedroom wall

 

  Empty pages

 

  All her letters like her life

 

  Disappeared.