I went looking for grace—
At a dot-com storefront
(Books or yarn, today?);
In a dressing-room mirror,
Sighing over silk more pleasing on the rack;
In red-gingham pastry paper
From a neighborhood bakery;
In romantic comedy,
Players trying too hard to delight my discontent.
Grace fled in all these pursuits;
Or was it I myself fleeing grace,
Knowing without knowing, deeper,
Its wild autonomy,
Selecting as it wills,
To lavish or lament?
This savage grace apprehended me
With gentleness;
Penetrated windowless chamber, deadbolts,
Surprising me in duty’s dictated path—
Blush-pink arms, laden with blossoms,
Reaching heavenward from creekside litter,
Lifting gratitude for spring;
Sunset-pink roses aflame, aglow
Against charred shell of home,
A fiercer burning mere days past;
Chalk-scrawled command,
Breathe,
In after-dinner-mint pastels on pavement.
Grace-found,
I found grace,
Insistent on tenacity of hope.
