Green Pastures

Yes, you know the washings.

You swell
at the routine you’ve followed
unapologetically.

You’ve cleaned your tableware
yet, when the time has come and
guests arrive, it’s Corban.

It’s life that you want,
but when the fullness finds you
the chains sink into
the familiar grooves upon your wrists.

Don’t forget who it was that
took the path at night for the question of the day.

To allow oneself to think freely.
The flow of it all consumes me.
Incessant sifting.
I leave the stead.

I nod while she tells the same story.
Anger has led to her own liberation.
Anything to pass the time.
To keep from the first of dime.

I pray in the crucial hour,
I am found with my own myrrh and aloe.

Pastures

 

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