I wrestle you

un-nnormally straight, my undone hair

sweeps past my provoked shoulderblades

as I release the clip.

it bows and waves as it meets the golden sunlight,

cascading into the airtight space between each sob.

it’s a docile hello,

a beautiful exchange in that pressurized space,

almost a vacuum, almost noiseless--

save the crumpled sounds rising from my ribbed red turtleneck:

aches that hover in the spanish catholic church

that you gave me the door code to

when my summer officially ended.

at least, that’s how I remember it.

later I see myself there from the exterior,

from the aerial view

and I watch as she leans over the pew in front of her

ribcage to chin heaving

with the unimaginable weight of

enduring

the kneeler was down,

the light illuminating that very bench.

the seat in which I always sit,

by the window which I like the best.

the kneeler was down,

the stained-glass sunlight beaming directly in through that window,

illuminating my bench and my bench only.

the kneeler was down.

how could you?

why would you?

why won’t you?

why would you break my trust so violently

and then leave me gifts along the way?

divine and holy mystery, you

simply have not allowed me to say,

why have you forsaken me?

you have made it impossible for me

to declare, self righteously, that you have left me

I think it might be better if you had

then my claims might find their daggered ends

embedded in your robe,

and my anger would find its mane:

how dare you leave me

I acquiesce, you have not.

instead you keep me in the space

between agony and gentleness,

present and not-even-silent,

but waiting

waiting

and making me wait.

or maybe it is me, holding you at arm’s length.

making you wait.

I know you

mysterious and such,

using the strong to confound the weak.

yes, I know you

upturning things that were devastatingly barren

and making them spring forth with life everlasting.

I have seen you do it

in the moments when I am not trying,

when I have not lifted a finger,

when I have not expected the gift.

but I cannot trick myself into trusting more,

that isn’t what trust is.

no, I cannot fix myself into surrendering more--

to strive harder will not be the answer.

I know you,

Jehovah Shammah, ever present.

El Roi, the God who sees.

Jehovah-Jireh, provider for me.

Jehovah M'Kaddesh, the one who sanctifies.

I wrestle you,

Jehovah-Nissi, fighter of my battles.

Jehovah Rapha, healer of soul and body.

Jehovah-Shalom, Lord of peace.

Yahweh Elyon, most high.

Yahweh, self-existent one.

yes, I know you.

I just don’t trust you.