The Intersection Wobbles


Day 2 of Escapril (writing a poem every day for the month of April)

Prompt: “The exact middle”

Right at the intersection

Of things coming to light,

And things being snuffed out,

What’s tangible enters my hand.

Then I’m weeping.

I’m clinging to the wood

As if I’ve finally been invited:

“Sit here.

Put it down.

I can hold you.”

I am rocked

My hands are then touching the floor

And small feet dance by when I look up

And a child is looking up and down at me.

She cannot see my thanking smile

For her dance and her stomps on stage

And her bravery.

I am not jealous of her–

I am ministered by her

as time paused a while for me to


To be present and okay with it.

Where the beams crossed on the tiny crucifix

I was given to hold–

Like a security blanket–

is where it wobbled most.

At the intersection of where things

Come to light and things

Are snuffed out;

I was encouraged to press

The nails hard, imagining the fears there

Like squeezing a holy hand

In assurance.

I didn’t need the crucifix

To hold His holey hand

To place my fingers there.

The beams wobbled at the intersection

of things coming to life

and things being snuffed out,

And I knew

Death was shakier

Than it’d lied.

Extra Encouragement (and Inspirations for this Poem)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s