Day by day,
He feeds me the manna of His Word.
Piece by piece.
Morsel after morsel.
Until I find I am craving more.
For nothing else can satisfy
my thirsty soul,
like the Bread from Heaven
of His Word.
Each word...
each morsel of light and life...
nourishes me in my inmost being.
Nothing else on this earth
comes close to satisfying.
I cry out "Lord, I want more!
For nothing else can save me, heal me,
deliver me, like Your powerful Word."
He answers, "Come, my child, you are
invited to the Feast,
to feast on Me, feast on My Word,
and find true life."
Empty from the broken cisterns
of the world,
I come to His Feast.
He feeds me the manna of His Word,
piece by piece,
morsel after morsel.
Until I find I am craving more.
Until He has filled up
my empty soul.

This light used to stand on his desk.

I can still smell the vanilla bean candle
And it's fraternal twin
Fresh linen
On his rusty filing cabinet
With a peeling red "Employee terminated"
Sticker
On it's belly.

He had a plastic mat
On the floor
So his rolling chair
Could go from one desk to another,
It was clear plastic
Tinged yellow
From age.
I liked to walk on it with bare feet,
And feel the contrast of the cool
Against the ragged carpet.

His files were always a mess,
Even when I had sorted them out
The day before.
I'm told things were better
Before he started working from home,
but I can't judge
I don't remember.

Words still ring in my head
Caught somewhere in his handle bar
Moustache,
And the landline
With his uniform way
of answering the phone.
And his uniform way
Of screaming.

As I write
By the light
Of his gold painted desk lamp,
Which always gets too hot
If you leave it on long enough,
I can't help but remember.
He never really left this house.
His boxes of memory inducing belongings
Are still at the top of the stairs,
And the seventies linoleum
Is still under my feet
With the shaggy gold carpet.

Divorce
Didn't mean
My father disappeared,
It meant his images,
And his voice
Would be wandering through
Our household appliances
Waiting for us to turn the corner
And see,
And have to start forgetting
All
Over
Again.

His Face is woven into
My DNA,
And I'm woven into
A string of lost jobs,
And a wife he didn't love.
And I don't like him
Existing in my new life,
But he dances his way
Through each line I write,
Like a last *******
To the daughter who wouldn't listen.

I wonder if you ever forget
The blood that didn't want you.
Because I haven't forgotten yet

Even if I've mentally buried you,
And left your carcass to rot
In the past years,
You still come back
In late night lights.

What am I?
A flamboyant distraction,
A toy,
With bright, eye-catching colors,
And movable parts
To be bent into shapes,
And a body to pose
In stop motion photographs
Only when I'm pretty,
All you,
And I,
Want to see.

Who am I?
A dull solid noise
Silently constant in a room
Unnoticed when gone,
Desperately trying
To be pleasing
To the ear.
I'll go over your head
In a whip crack of your
Sentence,
Or straight to the floor
At your
Feet.

Where am I?
In the cushioned rubber room
Of my own scull.
In the closing trap of my ribs,
In the safest,
Most dangerous place I can be
His touch.

I am,
Painted damage.
A plastic surgeon's jigsaw puzzle
Masterpiece
After a train wreck.
But when the lights are out
You can see the real me,
I am damage,
Failure,
A loss,
A handicap,
Left behind,
Unlov-

NO.
STOP.

I am,
Not your mistakes,
But what I learn from mine.
I am,
Not what or who loves me back,
Or a display of funhouse
Mirrors
In the insane asylum
I built to hide in.

I am,
We are,
Incomplete
Works of art.
With not enough strokes of paint,
With much more wonder to add
To our canvases.
I am the person underneath
The problems I see,
I am a student
Learning
To be
Me.

It hasn't rained in weeks.
If you pour water on the thirsty earth
The grass flies up around your ears
Dead.

There's something I learned
When I was young.
When someone is using your reaction
Against you,
Stop reacting.
There's nothing more unnerving
To an angry parent
Then a collected
Mundane
Face.

I could argue with the sky
For weeks,
Give it reasons,
Give it threats,
But it won't rain for me.

My darling,
She's built herself a desert
And you can't save her.
She's drained the water from her life,
So she wants yours.
Her feet are burning on her sand path
She's determined to walk,
But you can't pull her out.
A son can't be parent
To his mother.

When she is pushing you
Into a corner,
Spitting in your face,
And waiting for the satisfaction
Of your reaction,
Be the sky my love,
And stare at her
In a field of blue.
Save a little rain
For you.