Taylor Franson-Thiel
Things I Believe Have Saved Me
Cicada song in pre-sunrise, making aria of morning trek to car.
The little boy in the pew before me shaking his etch-a-sketch
The little boy in the pew before me shaking his etch-a-sketch
ignoring the preacher’s prayer. The daily beacon of a barbell,
chalk salting my palms. The endless poetry, its poets endless.
The promise that there are answers to many questions
but not all, allowing me to sculpt my own responses
from the clay of my lungs like Is there a God?—Yes, see Him
through the verdant brittle with light. See him in the shroud
of evening mist on your walk as you lace hands with a husband
who holds you like you are the only thing worth
holding and not a river run with wounding. Those twilight walks
and their complete mundanity. What will you do with all your present
and future suffering?—Please, do not ask me this
until I’ve had my chance to grieve but tell me instead,
will there still be birdsong? Pearls being birthed from a clamshell?
That little boy, the slurping he makes of sacrament?
The holy and glorious mess of it all.
OCD and Basketball
have two things in common. Variations in their repetition. Over — you hit — and over — you get hit — and over — brain says jump — and over — swerve into oncoming traffic — and over — if you don’t pray you will die — and over — if you don’t pray, Matt will die — and over — everyone will die — and over — pregrieve your aloneness — and over — you have only ever been alone — and over — you missed that shot because you sinned — and over — because you only shot 1000 shots the day before when you should have shot 2000 — and over — remember what coach said? — and over — you should attack her for that — and over — who even thinks like that? — and over — no you should have listened to her — and over — take the fork to the waiting veins in your wrist — and over — you deserve this suffering — and over — because you are bad — and over — bad — and over — bad — and over — bad girl — and over — and look at how the light is coming through those trees, look at how it graces pavement making everything inside it holy, maybe you should go to it and let its glow crucify you clean, maybe it will make you better, maybe it will save you — and over — what if you want to die? — and over — But I don’t — and over — but what if you do? — and over — But what if you are already dead? — and over — nothing will fix you — and over — nothing — and over — nothing — and over — nothing