fish bowels and nowhere

Her tears were the voice of God,

spoken audibly

from the drivers seat

of a white Nissan;

sending me to a city

to practice a message of repentance,

reconciliation, salvation;

but grace appeared the enemy.

But now,

as I foot home,

our story smells of burlap,

and sackcloth.

And for my sake,

when you hear it,

good god,

let your pretty heart jump

a little,

if for no other,

than for the

hope,

I have,

it might.

Because I didn’t set my course for Nineveh.

I took a third class to Joppa, and

in the storm named ambitions,

dreams,

found myself asleep,

awake to screams to

summon God.

So when I drew the short straw,

and convinced this crew

my nightmare,

was in fact

the one to cut your wrists for,

they tossed me overboard,

into an ocean called lovesick,

homesick, godsick,

and without knowing it,

but hearing,

the voice in my body

hit the water,

“dear holy god,

if your holy ears

hear

my soul,

then bridge my reach;

swallow me,

neck deep

in fish bowels and nowhere;

but

my knees;”

like standing,

only laying”

and I pray day and night there,

i pray day and night there; and yet,

these hands

could still clench tighter,

this heart

could still know fuller

three days thirst, before

vomiting me onto her shores.