She sings God to sleep.
Pins up ceilings of cathedrals
with songs written on her insides.
She holds them up with holy notes
and raspy hallelujahs.

She forms weapons with her tongue,
defends the innocent from death.
Each note an arrow,
D sharp warrior’s cry.

She pulls demons off the backs
of the oppressed
breaks the necks of dragons
without losing pitch,
her praises demand justice.

Her voice calls thunder
and rain.
She does not ask.
She proclaims.

If you are thirsty,
If you are sick,
find your way to west 22nd street on Sunday
when the sun is falling into the Hudson river.

She will lift the hollow wooden body
where the Holy Spirit dwells,
and string by string,
chord by chord,
she will unlock heaven in Manhattan

Are you tired?
Desperate for love?
She is no hero.
Will not save you.
But she knows the one who can.

She is his daughter.
She has his eyes.
And in the tender love
that only prophet knows of giver,

she invites her Father.
He always joins her,
and rests his hands on
tired shoulders.

She’s wild in love.
She’s lion strong.
Her songs push through
the dark.

In the light of lullaby and hum,
blues guitar and stomp,
she sweet sings with eyes closed
and God stops to listen.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry, trinity grace church and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Miriam

  1. i’d like to sit and listen. well done, as if my kudos help this great image one bit.

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