You Heard Me
(“In my distress I called to the Lord; I
called to my God. From his heavenly temple he heard my voice; he listened to my
cry for help.” 2 Samuel 22:7)
Somewhere between the margin of the
sky and earth my cry was heard. The sky was
as thin as a skin stretched over a drum.
The earth was thick and slowly rolling toward
the river that occupied my dreams.
I cannot quote a specific line,
I cannot identify the rays that broke from
sun to sky. I only know the vibration of my own
voice
lifted it over the trees and carried it further than
I could see.
This life has been a laboratory where
experiment and experience meet in unexpected
embrace. I theorize and record the results in
a journal written across my face. I still await a voice
that tells me my words are not insane. I still
await a hand
that helps me climb between earth and sky
where I walk foolishly and faint. Creation
changes with the tide; nature offers so little
insulation against the dark shades that haunt
the edges of my mind.
But you heard me. You let my distress arise;
you let the best of my poetry erase my first
draft of a life. I never belonged, or so I thought.
I dug my fingernails deep into the mud, squeezing
every pious word out of my undressed mind.
But you heard me, though no one patted me
on the back
to tell me I had finally gotten it right.
Prayer is not a magic formula learned in
lectures from experts.
But you heard me. And I walked assured on
the deep grass until I heard you as well as
You heard me.
