Other voices

Write On Me…

It’s been so long
since I’ve seen a burning bush

Some seasons
I see them
in every desert wash
the magnificence
the miracle…

“burning
and not consumed.”

Yet who do I fool?

Moses paid dearly
for his burning bush-
sweaty miles
and exhausted, sweaty tears-
all for the dubious blessing
of talking with God.

What claim have I to a burning bush?
(…or to God?)
I have not yet even learned
to remove my shoes!

I’ve learned so much of me.

Every inch of it has hurt…
to see honestly
and at length…
because at first
all I could see
were the wounds of humanity.

I looked for cool,
unflawed
marble
of deity
but found only a heart of flesh…

but hearts of flesh
are all that God
can write on.

Write on me,
Father,
write on me.
…by Barbara Francken Kelley (c. 1983)

(thanks to Wes Roberts for unearthing this one)