Not in a thunderstorm, when squalls cover the light and mangle solid ground. Not in a crowd, where no one will hear the whole story. It is not debatable when there are his and hers microphones. It is not debatable after a decade, when details look cold, colorless. Not when you had too much to drink, or because the hinges in your hips allowed them to open and you still believe it’s what Jesus meant when he said, I will prepare a place for you. It is not debatable that you understand this in your head, not debatable that you don’t yet know in your heart – it was not your fault – the Goliath beast heaving down into you. That is not debatable, but it is unfamiliar – a jagged river stone. Hold it in your hand. Grip for life and let it cut you. Believe it’s what Jesus meant when he asked for faith like a mustard seed – the size of one leaf in a twister, of one phrase flung by your slingshot through the mob – It is not debatable – Here you are, breathing
Cyndie Randall’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Frontier Poetry, Crab Creek Review, Longleaf Review, The Pinch, MORIA, and elsewhere. She works as a therapist and lives among the Great Lakes. Find her on Twitter @CyndieRandall or at cyndierandall.com.