With each secret, I layer another veil
between my heart and God. Of course,
I can't hide anything from God, as hard as I try,
whether it's the meat I'm not meant to eat
these weeks of Lent, or the small hate I hold
tight, unwilling to let loose into love--or at least,
understanding. There's so much I don't understand--
why my father loved so strangely, the storms in my chest,
a President want to war, and the notebooks
I found in family storage. So much history,
so many tangles in my current brain--it hurts and I lash
out, I slam my hand down with a crash.
I do this behind closed doors, but there's no
door wide or thick enough that God can't get in--
and when my rages come to rest, and rest turns to sleep,
against all my efforts, then I'm steeped in His rushes of love.