If God is my usable past,
the part worth saving,
the minutes, episodes,
chance in-counters
when I measure the moment
by soul standard,
an inward counting
of worth and meaning-
the past
stumbled upon
or given as an outright gift
to which I first said no
then later yes
with a bless-me-now
petition of recognition
instead of my normal
grudge;
yes!
that usable past
as even bruised fruit preserves
and shriveling grapes store sweet wine; Then
out of the past, O God,
let the useless become usable,
the broken repaired,
the lost found
as when the prodigal’s nowhere
with a change of compass
becomes now here
at homecoming.

Articles by Warren L. Molton

Loading...