Touch the I Am
I sit and scrape
sores
with broken pieces
of the mile-high granite
mountain,
that massive idol I want moved.
I have no idea
that the object of my faith will
not move
if it is the object of my faith.
The chipping at
it keeps me bound to my mat.
I have no idea
that I am only plucking
at a thread on the hem
of the cloak of eternity.
I am an orphan
baby crying
for a belly full of milk from a
propped up bottle.
The taste of it is
heightened on my tongue
even before I am fed without
being nourished.
I do not even
know to miss
the heartbeat thrumming
through the circle of a mother's
arms.
The bleeding
woman knew
if she only touched his cloak, she
would be healed.
Your
faith has made you well.
The centurion
knew
if this man of authority spoke words
from a distance,
he would return home to find his
servant well.
Such
great faith. . .
Jairus knew
if he threw his dignified self
at the feet of this man
who was so criticized
by his dignified peers,
he would have his little
daughter back
from the edge of death.
Do
not fear. Only believe.
The friends knew
if they tore through that roof
and fumbled that pallet
right down on top of the healer,
they would leave there with a
peer
able to carry his own now-light weight.
Your
sins are forgiven.
He put on flesh
and dwelt here
to make me crave
the skin to skin.
He pulls the aim
of the arrow of my longing
toward the very heart of God.
He pulls me, too,
to launch myself after it,
to elbow through crowds,
to claw through roofs,
to clamber over mountains of the
stuff of earth.
Your
great faith has made you well.
He draws me like
the path of lightning
from the ground to the clouds,
from my earth-bound toe tips through
my electrified fingertips.
Do
not fear. Only believe.
He cuts through
space and air and stone
until I strain only to touch the
skin that God put on
so he could put his hand on me
that I might live.
Your
sins are forgiven.
God, move me when
I see only the mountain.
God, hold me when
I want only the milk.
God, trail the
hem of your cloak close enough for me to brush
when my arm isn’t quite long
enough for me to grasp a fistful
and when my faith isn’t quite great
enough for me to see beyond the bleeding.
God, draw me so
that I may know and believe
and understand that you are He.
God, let me touch
the I am.
erinrms 3/31/2020
