I Cried Out to My God in an Empty Sanctuary
& I cried to Him & He didn’t answer,
crying out to my own echoes,
to a wooden cross high on the organ pipes,
overlooking the altar, the lectern, the pulpit,
once alive with sermon. Tears flocked
my horizon, argued with the emptiness.
I cried out again, the pit of my stomach huge
& filled with sorrow. I wanted
to say my heart ached
while my shoulders slumped,
& each time my hands trembled, I prayed:
Listen to me, I said, strained flakes
of whisper exhaling into the stained glass
windows filtering autumn’s generous sky,
a blade of sunlight hanging in the corner
of my eye. I am undone. The heartbreak
of all the yellow of what should be
untucked the light, & I exhumed
the heave & surge from the grave
of my chest until all at once it was quiet
& I was stilled. & as I let Him take me,
let Him lift me up, consume me
for that second, let light fall in, let His spirit
fill my mouth & air, let Him be the God for me,
I felt the moment for what it was—
everything—all I am ever meant to feel,
my yesterdays & tomorrows
not yet fogging up the windows
where I wait, this wintering making ghosts
of my breath while my body
fills with beautiful, boundless
certainty that tomorrow
everything will change, & I thanked Him.
& we sat side-by-side,
drawing breath between our breaths,
a minute of wellness in my unwell world.
Ariana D. Den Bleyker is a Pittsburgh native currently residing in New York’s Hudson Valley where she is a wife and mother of two. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her family and every once in a while sleeps. She is the author of four collections and twenty-one chapbooks, among others. She is founder and publisher of ELJ Editions, Ltd., a 501(c)3 literary nonprofit. She hopes you’ll fall in love with her words.
Amethyst Review 