September 14–20 ❘ Isaiah
Isaiah
He was a poet who wove nets
to cast and catch an ocean.
I also crave that glowing coal
to touch my lips, my stuttering tongue
and burn me clean to speak,
but I am less instrument
than implement in God’s hand—
blunt ax for rough kindling
or simple plow to delve earth
where others sow and reap.
I write furrow after furrow
of the same vision, a hundred
different stumbling ways.
Isaiah would explain
that near-term fate is too fixed
for God’s purposes. He needs time
to knead the poems and let them rise,
till what yesterday was one small loaf
grows to feed five thousand.
Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry
Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com
