Diane Vreuls April 23, 2012 - 10:40am
So many years in time, my soul,
so long since I met you at the door
to this large plain room where all the children
looked up for a moment as we entered,
then turned again to their play.
How I have worn you thin with washings,
stretched you on the line to dry with winter winds,
like my child’s diapers, to freeze and shatter,
but you did not break. If the heart breaks
why do you not? A mystery of God.
In this place all is mystery.
In its hunger you are my bowl.
In its pain you measure music.
In its primer you read the first word—
the Yes I am trying to learn.