From Inside My Fish

I have made this
my home.
Look at the pretty pictures
hanging on the walls
made of ribs.
I put out a rug
on the tongue
of the whale
and polished up a tooth
for my table.

I curl up here
with a book and
an oil lamp
and I admire the view
of my own creation.
I have given up
on ever being spit
onto dry land.
I have given up
on God.

Can I trust Him again,
lying here,
year after year,
bones like bars
in a prison?
I fear the change
of fresh God-air
on my skin and in
my lungs.
I fear where He will take me
if I let go
of this place I’ve made
my own.

Won’t you woo me, Father-God?
Tempt me to give you
my heart
even now that it is broken
and mended
and broken
again?
Give me a reason, Lord,
to trust you from inside
my fish.

 

*originally published on Middle Places

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