Morning Homeschool Break and the Triumphal Entry

Save me Oh God.
I sink to the bamboo floorboards of my bedroom,
An impromptu raft.

Fists buried in my blue velvet comforter,
I spent too much money on and obsessively internet shopped for.

I’m a dread of weeping here,
fearful and wrecked…
And my kids’ math homework, isn’t even done yet.

My shoulders shaking, the kids bang on the door,
busting in like ancient furies,
winged creatures who feast on my desperation.

Oh my Lord,
I’ve slipped under the heavy waves again.

I see my darlings through warped waters,
a surrounding tide of sharp isolation.
I’ve never felt so surrounded–
So alone.

I slip further.

Oh God, where is my rock?
Where is my anchor?
Where are you?

The sun grows ever grey here under the waters.

A surgeon’s light–
distant, dim, and dissecting–
All my imperfections are splayed out like a toad.

It’s funny, as I drown,
I thought I would feel heavy and full,
But I am hollow and pulled apart–
Here, you can see my lack of faith,
It’s in my kidneys.
And over there–My ungrateful greedy heart.
It’s greyly beating.

My sins are distorted to bloated scales
or maybe their true size.

I’m in these waters and still, God, I have the temerity to cry for help to you.
I’m suffocating.
But who else could save me?
For no one else hears me.

I’m alone.

I’ve even betrayed myself.

Floating here under the water
I’m in the realm of monsters now.

Mermaids, with city tinseled hair
and blue blood lips stalk me–
“Your kids are falling behind.” They say.
“Teach them their math facts.”
They chant, “All you need is a better chore chart.”
Then whisper, “Make them wear masks, even when they play outside.”

I scream, “Everything is political now.”

My words–sound waves of rage push back against
these Monsters of Thought.

They sneer, revealing black sharpened teeth,
thirst quenched with the blood of their own king.
Their eyes travel up to my kids–
“Just orientate them to suffering,” They hiss, “They’ll be fine.”
Then they swim away.

The faces of my family are wavering sky to me now.
A jumbled mirror, foreign to my own eyes.

Oh God,
It’s been a long year of drowning, and now
I’d like to just get it over with.

I cry out to God with a parched throat,
lungs on fire.

My Lord,
Another monster is pushing me closer to the
unmapped ocean floor.

Who is this Siren who sits on my chest?
And what does she sing as she bears me down to my death?

Who is this Siren who sits on my chest?
And what does she sing as she bears me down to my death?
Her song coils around me…

“Love me, love me–Pretend that you love me.
Leave me, leave me–Just say that you need me.”

Sea kelp drifts by,
A rope translucent and bulbous.
My eyes close with no more equations for anxiety.

I’ll wrap this kelp around me like a blanket.
It enshrouds me.

I close my eyes.
No more air.
No more noise.
No more me.

***

I feel a tug on the kelp,
A life line.
I’m pulled out of the water,
feeling weightless in the air
and the sea herself spits me out.

Ah…
So this is that water grave.
“You’re funny.” I cry to God.

I thought baptism was a one-time event I did in high school–
Not this daily drowning.

You rescued me.
Poor and in pain I’ll still exalt you.
Or try, while dying.

It’s not sea kelp in my hands,
but palm fronds.
I’m on the shore.
I move to the road with the party crowd already tailgating.

And there you are.

I’m dripping wet like a newborn puppy,
and you’re riding that ridiculous steed.

Our eyes meet.

You came for me.
And ride triumphant,
eyes open to your own wide tortured death.

Bearing all I cannot carry.
Everything about this is a mystery.

You who seek God.
Take heart.
For our Lord listens to the needy
And does not despise
His own who are prisoners.