Photograph by Fayssal Zaoui © 2009 and used with permission
I have taken the outdoor seat of an unwanted child
Lies cover me like layers of dirt,
Dull layers of dirt that look like skin.
I smell the water
but cannot find it.
Even free water can’t make me clean.
My nutrition poor, the cough deep in my chest
The lines in my face draw down
My old friends used to beckon me
but I stay on my outdoor seat.
Don’t want to talk about the dirt
or the curb
or the trash.
Photograph by Elizabeth Telhami © 2010 and used with permission
I’m brilliant and wise
so they say…
but the dirt won’t let me go.
I fumble hopelessly with tangled lies.
and angrily shove them back down into my cart.
My portable closet of secret important things…
strings and words and shards of glass.
They are all mine and I won’t let them go.
I sit in my heap on the curb
as the gravel on the street stands still.
Spring past due,
the skies so dark and gray.
My garbage is frozen in ice
The world, cold beneath my cracked and leathery feet.
I curl up in my worn body and faintly remember green.
Photograph by Fallen Idol © 2009 and used with permission
From under my dirt
I feebly seek You.
In my frozen pools of introspect and failure, I’m convinced You don’t want me.
I hang my head and cling to the cold.
A voice I know.
A sound so familiar…
like water in the womb.
A comfortable rhythm from before the dirt came.
The truth I can’t seem to believe, a truth I can’t fathom…
I’m so tired I can’t cover my ears…
I hear You.
I catch a glimpse.
The me in the wanted seat.
The lies laid bare… the tangled mess unravels
and in this electric moment,
I lift my head and breath.
The sky rumbles and the clouds roll.
Drops begin to hit my head. I won’t run from them.
I won’t hide in my usual doorway.
Photograph by Saurabh Sawant © 2009 and used with permission
The rain falls warm and dirt runs away in little rivulets.
I furiously forget my position and wash in the downpour.
I weep in the deluge.
Today, my cherished trash washes down the street in the gulley
I look up.
I feverishly surrender as I wipe the dirt from my arms.
It is not my skin.
I let my cart go racing down the hill.
Truth pours from the sky.
I set out buckets to receive.
Taking my seat as a wanted child.
Covered in truth.
I will not practice my unworthiness…
but think only of Your radical embrace.
7 thoughts on “the outdoor seat of an unwanted child”
I love your heart-stream, edenstream…it is elegant, eloquent and so deeply atached to those who are in your writing.. I love you.
Very inspiring! 🙂
Thank you to an inspired reader!
Catherine, this is simply beautiful and so anointed! What a deep place of the Spirit you write from. Love your secret blog already!
Love ya sweet lady
Thank you Liz…. your encouragement means so much. Love you too friend.
My first thought was what a beautiful mind you have to write the way you do, then I realized I was wrong………You have a beautiful spirit! So to God be all the Glory as you continue to illuminate Him.
P.S. Willa’s art work is amazing and how well the two of you compliment one another.
Oh Martha…. thank you for your precious encouragement…