Posts Tagged ‘Jacob and the angel’

May I not only see my own shadow
but may I let it wrestle me
the way an angel once met Jacob
then wrestled him till dawn.
May we scrabble and scrap
until I am trembling, exhausted,
until the shadow dislocates what I think I know
about how to move through the world,
until panting I beg it to bless me,
cling to it until it gives me a new name.
I want to know everything
I am capable of—the destruction,
the ferocity, the benediction.
I don’t need to know the weather.
I just want to know that I can meet
whatever comes, even
the darkest parts of myself,
and learn from them,
then limp into the daylight
toward healing, toward wholeness.

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wrestled by the moon

until daybreak, until losing my name,

I, too, am shining

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Tonight, the storm is not here, but I see it
in the distance. Lightning unzippers the air, white shock
of illumination. The sky doesn’t hide its bruises.

Dark tents of rain settle over the flats.
And the thunder, no matter how distant, grabs me
with its enormous hands, shakes me by the shoulders,

and tells me to hush. If the angel came to me tonight
and said it were my turn to wrestle, would I tussle with him
until daybreak? Would I try to shutter him out? If he pushed me

to the earth, would I leap up and run? Or lie there and let
him take me the way the rain would if it were here?
I hush. Must we fight for our blessings? Must we steal

for our birthright? The wind dances the leaves,
ravages my hair. Angel, please do not come tonight.
I am tired. Uncertain. Oh, you are already here.

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