Wayside Pulpit {A Poem}

~an edited repost from the archives, a lesson I still need all too often to learn~



I went looking for grace—
    At a dot-com storefront
    (Books or yarn, today?);
    In a dressing-room mirror,
    Sighing over silk more pleasing on the rack;
    In red-gingham pastry paper
    From a neighborhood bakery;
    In romantic comedy,
    Players trying too hard to delight my discontent.

Grace fled in all these pursuits;
Or was it I myself fleeing grace,
Knowing without knowing, deeper,
Its wild autonomy,
Selecting as it wills,
To lavish or lament?

This savage grace apprehended me
With gentleness;
Penetrated windowless chamber, deadbolts,
Surprising me in duty’s dictated path—
    Blush-pink arms, laden with blossoms,
    Reaching heavenward from creekside litter,
    Lifting gratitude for spring;

       Sunset-pink roses aflame, aglow
       Against charred shell of home,
       A fiercer burning mere days past;

 
    Chalk-scrawled command,
    Breathe,
    In after-dinner-mint pastels on pavement.

Grace-found,
I found grace,
Insistent on tenacity of hope.