The Fist

 The Fist 07.08.08

The day I first doubted,

My open hand,

Closed tight around,

In white knuckled panic,

The idea of you,

And all you meant to me,

My newly clenched fist,

And my closed heart,

Were not open to receive the gift of you,

And only an open palm,

Can hold another's hand,

Firm and gentle,

In tenderness,

Anne-Marie,

And I lost myself in the grasping,

 

And you too, Jesus,

Once I grasped the idea of you,

I would not let go for the fear of the loss of meaning,

And of purpose,

And I resisted the nail,

And in so doing I resisted the love,

And I can never picture you with anything but,

Open hands,

 

Open in surrender, father forgive,

Open in invitation, place your fingers in the holes,

And so far,

I have resisted what I sought to hold onto,

And who among us knows,

That you cannot consume,

A sweet that is shielded from the other children,

In a closed hand,

 

So, you two,

I confess to this;

I made a fist and,

Missed the gift,

 

Speak to me and say,

You don't have to stay this way,

That I can finally start hoping,

And finally get starting to get open