Overbaked

OverBaked

(“But in that day, the branch of the Lord will be beautiful and glorious; the fruit of the land will be the pride and glory of all who survive in Israel.” Isaiah 4:2)

Afraid to grow,
afraid of the hole I fell in,
I feel in the coming storm,
I felt in waking dreams
the souvenirs of failures
two steps behind the falling line.

Save me this time, O Branch with roots firmly grasping
the soil and granite. Reach down to my cannot,
grab me by my frantic, shake the haven’t out of my
narrow range of vision. I will place my feet on
the muddy bank
if you will hold me up;
do not leave me to sink on the shore
swept out to the vast no more,
beyond the cold cold roar where waves
are a distant silence.

My feet are sore, my head, overbaked, is dry
and crumbly,
my mind stumbling over itself; my feet
rebelling the next degree.

I want to run the sand, laugh the wind,
sing the babies, smile the sun even when
the shades are drawn.

I want to feel the blood rushing through me,
heart in tempo and strong, taking life-liquid
to the cells and nerves where the thinking waits
for a bit of refreshment to delete yesterday’s
fuzzy entries. The best brain is a hack when
running the same track deeper into the same
ruts steeper into the hole I fear I fell in when
I felt the coming storm.

I would rather eat an apple or a peach,
the sweet sticky clogging my fingers
reminds me that life that runs through me.
With nectar stuck on my lips and hands,
how can I imagine the Branch has lost the way
of the taste and ways of me.