You’ll be kind and
never lose your temper
and no one will misunderstand
your jokes. You’ll
wake up early and listen
to the mourning dove
sing dooo
dooo do-do-do
low-high calling
the new day good.
You’ll always have spare
change for the panhandler
at his median post. You’ll be
better.
You’re just a little bit good
for now.
But the You that matters
is the you that exists.
And she hits snooze and grumbles
through morning coffee, forgets
to take out the trash.
She whines and her
words don’t always
pour over wounds like soothing
balm. Sometimes,
she lets wounds fester.
But at least she exists, here,
now, placed for a season,
planted and occasionally watered.
You’re aloe with frost
bitten tips, but
you’re alive, and can still give
of your rich pulp.
Remember this,
God uses the You you are.
