windowsill

Tending to the overflow, she washes

away her fears. Marinara stains

on her creamy matte dishes.

She prays through her window to the sky-

searching for reply, a tear glides

down her rosy skin.

 

Solitude. Her soapy boxed-

fingers speak to her father.

Silent soliloquy.

Protect… my God, heal-

Fighting and finding.

Peach tartlettes bring

thankfulness. The glory

days are here.

 

Her windowsill-

lifeline to Him.

~~~

The dishes…what was once a lax task, I have taken to quite enthusiastically. It is my quiet time where Matt can tend to our little ones and I can have a brief moment to myself. I find myself in Holy communion with Abba, my father. Silence speaks so loudly. Thankful for these days. Here and now. This moment, I am trying to absorb so fully.

Breathe in deeply, this day,

-B


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