Battlefield On The Meadow - Christina Hopp

If you were to try, right now, there would be

a forest waiting for you. A mess of causes

and reasons, an unholy grief to break through.

But I could never mistake that air, the heavy

sense of purpose that wafts through the walls

and aligns to our star-crossed bones.

I know I would soften at a moments notice,

and you would open me up to spit me out,

leave me stagnant, shaken, and you would

be there with me. This worship sounds different,

do you hear it? When the psalmist speaks,

does she fulfill you? Infinity is so far away,

a longing and the last thing I want. 

This anger is on the tip of my tongue in a

split second, I still don’t know what you think

of me, and I worship your altar. I’m terrified

of you, I’m enraged with you, and I somehow

adore you. At least once a day, I am 15 again,

weak in the knees at your blessed, living word

and when she comes around, she is so confused

at the duality, at this wretched body, at what

could have possibly happened to her intimate land.