Transplant

Here's a messy one for ya. :) My apologies for the sappy, nostalgic tone of this poem. I wrote it during my family's most recent move (2017) and never bothered to comb through or 'fix' the melodramatic mood that came through in my writing during that time.

Yes, moving is hard (especially for this sentimental fool of a teenager!) but at the same time, of course, it brings new blessing and new growth. While, clearly, I hadn't learned this when I wrote the poem, our move has ultimately taught me a valuable truth: that true joy doesn't depend on circumstances. God knew I needed an actual gritty experience to teach me this, and not just some wordy abstractions! (But, please don't think I've learned this 'lesson' perfectly; I have not.) When I read this poem now, I laugh at myself a little and am deeply thankful for the change of heart that God has worked in me. All the glory to him, that my heart did not stay bitter and resentful against his will. All in all, our move was definitely a good thing!

Think of this poem as a tribute to the memories (spiritual experiences, childhood adventures, etc.) that I felt I was leaving behind.

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Nodding windows goodbye,

running hands along smooth walls,

listening to echoes of memories.

Dreams were here,

weeps, utopia,

apathy and war conglomerated

to meld into--me.

So what?

They're just rooms.

Just dust spaces

with wood floors

and white paint.

Just dancing

on bare, sweaty toes

when music

shakes these wood floors

and I fight the dust spaces,

trying to fly.

Just melting into

cold blue tiles,

all this everything

running down my face

not stopping

grief that's an anchor

visceral weight

dragging me

to the pits.

Beating the words onto a page,

ranting, rushing,

feeling feels before that window

with the grey bloody splash of

twilight sky.

Pounding the chest of God,

screaming, "Why?"

Silence.

Giving up (on me) when the answers wouldn't come,

dying,

burying the flesh.

T

h

e

n

rising,

breathing,

with the Life of the Morning Star

in my veins.

Dipping tongue

into wordless delights,

tasting fellowship with Jesus

I never deserved

and never understood,

breathless in the bathroom corner,

encountering Holiness.

Hours and hours

of bubbling giggles,

shrieks and roars

of sisterhood. All untold

stories and worlds

falling, unfurling,

in colorful curls

from our hands,

billowing up in

canyons of youthful

architecture.

Don't wanna leave.

These memories, keeping me.

Fear of newness, glaring me down.

Little trembling hope-spillage

leaks down my cheek

and I turn forward in my seat,

not looking back.