Saturday

I am very much in the middle
On the verge of something happening
Like a serge of something gathering
I write phrases in songbooks because I haven’t learned to sing yet
There are disappointments and choices—whether or not to listen to the voices
I rhyme when it feels right
But sometimes? It just feels wrong
I don’t sacrifice fattened calves
I sacrifice smiles instead
Each time I choose death over life
I look for something to occupy
But then I wonder
Why? What’s the point?
They say to prepare for the storm you must build dams and blockades
But I buy rain boots instead
Knowing that sometimes you don’t always get to stay inside to wait it out
Sometimes you wade in it
Sometimes you walk in it
Sometimes you pitch a tent so you can dwell in it
You say it doesn’t phase you
That it wasn’t how she raised you
You say, “This isn’t my first rodeo,
I’ve been around the block before.”
You’re in the eye of the storm
But, please, blink
Please get away from it
Because it will grasp the bottom of your leg and try to pull you under
And that’s when it will thunder
It will get worse before it gets any better
We extend palm branches and praises
But when we release our fists
Our grip on the anger
Our grasp on the bitterness
Out will fall nails
It is silent and dark
But wait
Today is Saturday
But tomorrow is Sunday

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