Off the Streets and Cults

I called you, yesterday.
I laughed.
You laughed at me.
I danced, made plans for coffee,
hung up the phone and sat numb.
Last night, you murdered me
in my sleep.

I read, this morning,
a woman
who wept over
the one she could no longer call.
I wept for not missing your eyes
that change shapes in my dreams
night on night.

You undid me, yesterday.
I doubt
I heard what you never say
so eloquently.
I’m too used by you and the night
to miss your comfort
or delight.

You broke up my place to land.
Daddy's voice
guides me home.
He holds my tears as treasure;
He spins my voice into a robe
He wears; He dances over me—
His pleasure.

I think of you, today.
I hold
your tears as my own.
I pray for a gentle tone,
to spin my words into a robe
you wear while He dances over you—
His pleasure.

“I delight greatly in the LORD;
my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments
of salvation and arrayed me
in a robe of his righteousness…” Isaiah 61:10 NIV

c. 5/17/2019 by Laurel Turner
In a Cracked Garden
poems for trauma survivors
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