Poem

Writer's Note: This is a young person's poem. I wrote this poem in the 1980s. It is around the time I was particpating in a writing workshop in Harlem; and I had a young woman friend, also a poet, with whom I used to share conversations about poetry and other things.


Crisis: Covenant

And you ask, Where do I stand?
Other winters weathered left me
lean, trembling, my love mangled effort,
hurt heat behind my eyes,
wise as Socrates: ignorant and knowing it,
having been loved and loving, hated and hating,
having lain naked with truth,
having detonated so many lies
to protect my soul's cities,
risen thick smoke blinding me,
scattered rubble burying all truth,
learning again and again: defensible or defenseless,
the war is lost: life wins.
Still you ask, Where do I stand?
Have I begun to call death?
What of God?
Useless are my prayers,
desperation never being taken
for faith or love by God or men.
Though miracles fall at your feet,
like necessary tribute,
I can only believe in you,
your faith, your laying on of hands,
my body to rise, come
with my soul to cry sanctified!
walking with light.
Is there a new convenant we can make?


(c) DG