So much of our lives are spent in delight, the running around the side of the house to see the whole rainbow, watching ourselves in the mirror as we recollect and recite a good come-back, holding other bodies close as morality or comfort allows.
The beginning (the stitching of our lips, our unformed breasts, the fist-sized muscle in the chest) and the end (our unknown final words, the last caress, the last tick within us), we know that we are not all there for either event. So in the middle, to pretend to understand at all, we build. We relish. We wear silk against the skin, and we show our shape. We lust and enjoy, the thanksgiving meal not without chocolate, not without pecan, the berries, the spices or the bird.
We are merely human,
like all before us and any after. We do not understand mercy.
But have it on us. Mercy on our skin, our forgetfulness, how we point to the sky, notice the pink lay down on our houses, the blue shoot hard into night as the dark turns on us. We spin day in and out, and the invisible axis is You. Have mercy.
You are the stop watch.
Original Artist, have Mercy.
You are Promise, the Before and the After.
Now in the During, let us now give thanks.
By Amber Haines, The Run-A-MuckLeave a Comment