the book

The Book

I am making a book.

The pages are thick white paper,

sturdy, with a tooth.

Each one is painted and hand sewn,

Layered with pigment and fiber.

Each one tells the story of a failure or a wound,

A dead-end where I spent too much time,

A wrong choice that led to a wrong place,

An aching desire, unfulfilled,

My mistakes, misjudgments, and scars.

In the vision I work on these pages with love,

The way a midwife meets life and death

with a steady hand,

Then carefully bind them together.

I place the book on the altar.

I hand it to over to God.