sitting in michigan x

i wait for a call that almost sounds like home

but it is the weeping of the sea as she rolls 

over the shore and aches as she pulls back

the layers are revealed, and the grown 

turn cold shoulders

yet i am still small, kneeling in the sand, 

shells piled like jewels 

in my hands

the sky is sobbing and i am trying

to figure out why

everyone here cannot see the gift

of a God who cares enough to refine

there is a pulling in my chest, 

right between the bottom of both my ribs

calling for the chance to be pierced 

hard enough to bleed

they are all searching. searching for

something to fulfill. and i -

i am constantly racing to unclog as if 

i were a drain overflowing with junk.

here am i! i want to scream. but even

that conviction isn't quite reckless enough.

i can never seem to feel the right

thing at the right time. i am

the clock that chimes three minutes too late.

/x