why do i weep for what i should condemn
why does mercy pull tears from eyes too used to burning
why do i shudder when the hammer falls
on those who once raised it
high
over my own head
why does His kindness undo me
when i am not clean
when i have rehearsed rejection
like a psalm
why do i tremble
when the hand still reaches
jerusalem still stoning the prophets
america still bowing at her own altars
and i
still learning how to love
those who hate
still hoping for beauty
where nothing but dust grows
should i not rejoice when justice is done
and yet
i mourn
i mourn the fire and the ashes
the ruin and the ruiners
as if some echo in me remembers
eden
and how we all fell at once
thorns cannot yield figs
brambles do not feed the hungry
but oh
even the cursed ground drinks rain
so what am i
bitterroot
or beloved
a cracked jar that still catches light
or a shadow wearing grace like borrowed skin
is longing holiness
or just hunger
am i crooked
or just reaching
still
i pray
for the ones who will not pray
and for the One who still waits
in mercy
on the hill we raised to **** His Anointed
the hill where He stays