Eye of God

I start this poem by placing my heart on my palm setting loose upon the face of God My stories are ships I've built inside my ribs and to sail it is like setting out without a rudder My stories are birds that learned to swim on the sea of endless fear and now I cannot remember which I was first feather or fin, sky or salt! My Mama told me not to worry, even if the sky is splitting and sinking to the sea But cursed is the man who trusts in a man and makes flesh his strength Her voice was a glass cracking, cracking! a mirror splintering Worry became the anchor I ached to hold the weight I welcomed Lorry became the low, long lie the rumbling ruin that rolled right past a promise painted, then peeled away never pausing, never pulling over never picking me up from the pull of the tide She said “don't worry” But worry is the only rope I have when the lorries leave and her voice fades like foam on the face of the flood