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Ezra, Pt. 2

Today, there was a baptism at church.
An infant named Frederick.
His parents were decked out--
in their finest garb.

I looked on this moment with amazement--
Filled with the joy that
I imagine the parents were experiencing.
As the Reverend walked the baby down the aisle,
to celebrate his welcome into the
Church of Christ,
I teared up.
I so desperately desire that moment--
the moment when Ezra...or Eden/Moriah... are
paraded down the center aisle of the Church,
celebrating their welcome into a community of Believers.

I got sentimental. Is it because I'm almost 30?
Is it because I let go of loves of my life?
Is it because my ovaries are ready--along with my spirit--
to create something new in this universe?

I cry myself to sleep, often,
mourning the loss of possibilities that
seem dead
I cry because, although I know that God would never
leave me or forsake me,
I can't even muster up the energy
to imagine better--
What does that even look like?
I thought I had it!

I linger for a moment
to catch my breath before I preach.
Life is peculiar, I think to myself.
After all of the heartache and heartbreak,
is there still joy left for me in this Universe?

I drown my sorrows in brunch libations,
hoping the eggs would answer my
burning inquiries
about life and love.
They didn't.


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