(by Kimberly Childs)
I’m finding God in the dark places
The old age home with its stench of feces
A truck’s shadow concealing an oil-drenched rainbow
Shiny supermarket fruit have no flavor
Give me an orange persimmon bruised brown
The avocado’s rough rind reveals creamy green
Things are not what they seem
Disaster is a gift wrapped in grief
Loss is an addition of great value
Look at the one who weeps
And see their wealth
Beg them to share it with you
Still, when pain weights my lap
Like a malodorous black cat
It’s hard to accept her with grace
If I can follow her down
Urine soaked alleys
To the blind one suffering in the corner
If I can entice her home
Enshrine her at my dining table
Join her in a feast of my heart
I will know the riches of a queen
And the ecstasy of a saint
I was once blind like she who bore me
We were stumbling drunkards, angry ranters
She mistook her daughter for a rival
I confused her pain with my essence
From that black compost
Comes my harvest
We were wearing crowns of candles
Yet we hear poverty barking at our heels
Things are not what they seem
Look in sour dumpsters and find gold hidden
God is in the dark places