A Poem: How I Come

This is how I come to you God.
At the end of the day
when I lie downtrodden,
drawn to a thin edge,
tight as a violin’s string.

This is how I come.
And this is how I begin with you,
in the morning’s half-light,
lips quietly moving.

This is what I bring:
A ragged breath,
a dogged perseverance,
a half muffled cry,
a bone deep weariness,

And a hope—
like my old,
frayed, faithful robe,
that of a morning I place on.

Whether through force of habit,
or warmth, or coverage,
I do not know.

At the end of the day though
what keeps us going
is not always clear.
Today it was prayer.

Tomorrow it might be
another’s hand,
or the feel of enveloping sheets,
or sun rays on skin.
It might just be the way my
eyes water

when I speak of seemingly small things,
or my largest fears
or phantoms,
and someone listens,
catches my eyes and sees.

Yes, and
this is how you come to me.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
November 2022