limp
by Josiah Peachey
Full tilt the words, I throw
Too much of myself forward
Before letting God gather me up
Entering conversations with
Untethered expectations asking
(without saying, in spite of all my speech)
For someone to bear
The boiling burden of me, as if
Yet another set of words
Could drop conclusive clarity
And yet…
To grow is to grow smaller
More receptive
Let go the demands of ego
Fling myself full-on to grace
Shovel the whole gamut of me at God
Grow fierce in prayer yet
Gingerly address this piecemeal mess
Like a partially finished puzzle
Fingers sticky with tears
Scatter the half-finished corner
And yet…
The press of this peace
Gentle push from the cavern crush
Of spelunking self obsession
To the lift of air
The risk of November
Release the ecstasy of yesterday
Leaves now muted, mottled, sparks
Like a carnival of humility
Ripe days reap, harvest bounty
But only by His breath only
With the limp got by wrestling
Only by divine flame
Can this root-rot, leaf-burl burn
And not be eternally consumed.
Josiah Peachey is an amateur student who lives in Ambridge, Pennsylvania with his small family in a little house beside a tiny garden.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy
Thank you for these words, Josiah. They moved me.
Josiah, “limp” resonates deeply with me; thank you for writing those words!
Some time ago I wrote a short essay about “The Limp” as per Jacob’s night wrestle with God. If you would like to see it, email me at darhuber@emypeople.net and I will send it to you.
Josiah, this is beautiful. It begs to be read aloud, and reminds me of Hopkins.
“For someone to bear
The boiling burden of me”… I thought this was more of a woman thing, to feel as though one is too much for others, or for the world itself. But maybe it’s a poet thing?