What to do on the worst day of your life


Sit down (or fall down). Anywhere will do. 
Wherever you are, stop. Breathe. Cry. 
There is no quick fix or easy path, 
no way out but through, so sit. 
Take these words (or don’t). Take nothing 
but that which holds or calms or joins this pit
you find yourself in. Here, in this place, 
even good news can ring untrue. 
No matter what you do it won’t undo
the moments and movements that led to this. 
So sit and pray, but not artfully, beautifully.
Let your words fall apart with you. 
Shattered, tear-soaked prayers like those
from dirt or cross or grief green garden. 
Jesus won’t make this better, not if better means go away. 
He will cry with you. I will cry with you too. 
He does and I do and the grace of this day might only be 
shared tears and good food and the silence that follows why.
The over-under on your suffering is impossible to know. 
I cannot say it will all be okay. Tomorrow
may only be the second worst day; 
But that is tomorrow (of course) and this is today.
So sit or crumble or pray and take these words (or don’t).
Toss them up like glitter or else throw them away.

I forgot a pen


I forgot a pen when I walked out

here to the garage where I write. 

Too many books than I could read,

my underused notebook, and no pen. 

The room smells of mildew and furniture polish. 

There is insulation on the rug under my desk,

dropped from the ceiling by some foraging creature. 

The whole room needs a good wash

and I need a pen. 

It might be wasted effort to clean a room

that stays dirty. Futile. Never-ending. 

Turns out I have a pen tucked

in an outside pocket of the heavy coat I wear

when I sit out here with the creatures and dirt

and cold in this garage to write.