On these blissful summer mornings, when the sun peaks over the horizon at 4:15, I like to read some poetry before the real world takes over. Here is what I found today:
Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book's authority is derived
from its heavy black lines
as unalterable as the Ten Commandments
within which minor decisions are possible:
the dog black and white,
the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words,
a caption, perhaps a narrative,
a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we discover
a blank page where we might justify
the careless way we scribbled
when we were tired and sad
and could bear no more.
Connie Wanek (from On Speaking Terms)
In my sleepy daze I didn't get it at first, but slowly I began to realize that this is my story, my reason for leaving the Southern Baptist church and a minister husband, Lubbock and my home state of Texas. Even after all these years I sometimes doubt myself...my gratitude to the poet, who said it more clearly and eloquently than I ever could.
Almost makes me want to change the name of this blog to Found in Maine...