You, who ground my bones to make bread,
Who scalped off my face to keep ahead –
Now I must learn from the things you have said.
But how can a lie birth the truth instead?
It was all intent – you planned every deed
And ignored all my pleas to acknowledge my need.
You cut out my tongue and left me to bleed,
And there in the stubble you planted your seed.
I lived with your voice, always at bay.
It followed me out when I went on my way.
At every endeavor it darkened my day.
Oh, where could I flee that your spirit would stay?
Together we could have shot holes in the sky,
But instead it fell in on us, wiping us dry.
And the same rhyme repeated as much as I’d try:
The tedious rhythm of watching hope die.
But now I must see you was teacher or guide,
Though never experiencing you on my side,
To trust that your wisdom was hidden by pride –
A difficult challenge to pace – I have tried.
Could it be your lesson is not so clear
But hid in the game that we played in that year
When I abandoned my selfhood in abject fear
And you did scorn a manly tear?
I gave you my self, hoping you’d give it back,
And never again did I see it intact.
You were beautifully subtle in your attack,
But I was the one who allowed it, in fact.
And so you have taught me no woman or man
Can answer the question of just who I am
Or give me the purpose and worth I demand.
I must crash on the rocks of the one God who can.
But this is no simple solution to sum.
This is no lesson like see Dick and Jane run.
This is acknowledging where I am from
And rescinding the hatred that keeps me undone.
You who ground my bones for me
So they could be molded like fine pottery,
Who continues to lead me down paths I can’t see,
Somehow you have been my best enemy.