Be still, and know that I am God.
Be still. Don’t forget how the Earth shifted—
dinner plates with clean breaks in smashed boxes—
and lands became continents, broken homes.
Be still. Remember. Waters rushed between
the fissures, formed divides, shaped tongues, grew gods,
all holy, right. All lording over all.
Be still and wake early. Walk far. Alone.
But don’t dwell on the once-solid landmass,
or want it sutured, seamless, with Eden
waters that filled cups, washed hair oils, armpits.
Be, still. Know, still. Endure in the broken.
We did just that when we were uterus
issue, when our hands flailed and tried to cling
to what we were made of. To still be one.
This appears in the December 2018 issue of Sojourners
Got something to say about what you're reading? We value your feedback!
