Saturday, May 14, 2011

Abba, Father

I have made myself a word I can't pronounce.
I've made an alphabet of choices
Made from voices not my own.
Dancing cheek to cheek,
My Chinese with my Greek,
Geography, cartography -
Calligraphy is left to me.
The nub of it is this:
My syllables all hiss a name I cannot say.
I strike me mute.
I kick me like a boot.
I want the simple truth
To speak my name.
Abba, Father, come to me like water.
Wet my tongue,
And teach me what I've sung.

* From Julia Cameron's book "The Right to Write"

No comments:

Post a Comment