Hallway Observations
She prays with those lips,
and a bald head
like the sky owes her a favor
for being good.
She says God is her anchor
how does that work?
All I see is a canoe, chained to a ship
that forgot how to stay afloat.
This stranger doesn’t wait for miracles.
This guest doesn’t pause for halleluyas
But she still kneels like her pain is just a test in a real life game.
They paint God as light,
but he’s never the one
switching on the bulb at 2 a.m.
when the pain keeps her eyes open
He’s not the one sorting pills,
after pills.
Nor the one honoring appointments at the physician’s.
She’s in a warzone,
and angels stay backstage,
shining swords they never swing.
She calls him “Baba mi”
But I’ve never seen a father so allergic to showing up.
And still
she believes.
That’s what breaks me most:
not her guest
but her loyalty to absence.
Where was God when these visitors
stopped by?
How busy could the angels be
when this stranger kept knocking at the door?
No don’t tell me about crowns
in heaven.
Give her peace here.
Give her sleep now.
She is the candle melting for everyone else’s light.
But no one ever asked
what candle melts for her own light?
They say God,
but that’s abstract.
Not reality.
Reality is 4 a.m. with no sleep,
No sugar, just fruits.
=====
Poem (c) Festty2high
Image: Remixed ChatGPT