i don’t know what this means either

i still
silent

practising the rare meditation
that i know will do me good.

i breathe
until the peace of my mind
is interrupted by the blood rushing through my head
and i resent its noisy imposition

i am less breath
than blood
today

i finger the cut
on my thumb
the rawness of the fresh skin
reaching too far to join
the split
together
still fragile enough
to rip apart with
just the pressure
of my touch

i am alive

i think about a Christmas to come
and a month of
breathless pace
of blood rushing
of gift
of fear
and pleasure
and love
fragile enough
to rip apart
with just the pressure
of my touch

and i pray
to a god of breath and blood
for the courage
to hold
lightly
to that which i want
given birth to

and to wait
for the gift
i cannot make

i breathe again
my heart speeds

i am alive.

3 Comments

  1. sarah agnew

    i am in awe at your ability to weave words … may i offer this for reflection for the esther project during advent? we’ve had a suggestion that as we focus on waiting, we actually might be wondering, what are we waiting for ??

  2. Jenny Weinert

    Thank you. Your poetry speaks to me, and I appreciate that it makes me think. Know that you are touching someone in the USA. I used one of your poems from last year (with acknowledgment of course)in an advent devotional I just put together for a group I serve with. I read avidly your posts on curation an alternative worship as I am involved with that here. I am challenged by your prison posts, which I think is a good thing. Basically, thank you from someone you do not know, for sharing a piece of yourself and what you do.

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