Sep. 28–Oct. 4 ❘ Comfort
Comfort
Babylon is cancer, car crash,
crushed bone and racked
sinew, brittle skin blistered
by sun. It sneers at you
for wanting to be good,
for continuing to scrape away
the muck every morning.
A voice still calls
from wilderness: Gather
drop by drop to pools
measured in mountain hollows.
Fill, flow, rush to the pull
of waterfall. Let it carry you over,
rinse you through,
and for a little while
wash away Babylon
with the collective roar
of your tears mixed with God’s.
Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry
Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com
