Saturday, January 1, 2005

Poem About Faith

I’m kneeling in the shower,
naked, wet,
peering down the black hole of the drain.
I can see my gold earring there.
I can just grip it with the tweezers,
but I keep dropping it.
Careful, steady, squeezing tight,
almost up, and the earring falls.
I’ve been at this a long time.
I’m going to be late for work.
But I believe I can do this.
I believe two people can stay married for a lifetime,
that we can rescue troubled kids,
that this war will end.
I believe in forgiveness.
I believe God loves us.
And again, the earring falls.

Cheryl Gatling

published in The Comstock Review

The Mark

On every stoop a paper.
At 149 Shotwell Park, a balloon,
a box of chocolates, a sheaf of roses.
It’s six AM. Another hour, and doors will open.
Men and women in various shades of gray
will shuffle out, yawning, to pick up
their Post-Standards and Wall Street Journals.
At 149 Shotwell Park, one woman,
(or maybe a man) will touch the roses
and burst into peach and pink and gold,
her robe glowing emerald, jade
and electric chicory blue.
Someone here is loved. And you,
for whom I wrote this poem,
you also bear the mark. Go to the mirror
and touch your shining face.

Cheryl Gatling

published in Comstock Review