Painting by Andy Denzler

Are there any among the vanities of the Gentiles that can cause rain? or can the heavens give showers? art not thou he, O Lord our God? Therefore we will wait upon thee: for thou hast made all these things. -Jeremiah 14:22

When I know these words are my blood

In the desert the only flowing waters:

One life-pool on the dry, cracked mud

Unable to sustain her sons and daughters

I can only evaporate

Or wait for trick’ling of these quatrains

Though too parched, the drink cannot sate

The heavens pour down but scorned are the rains

I blur into mirage at horizon

Not dead nor living nor with single-heart

I become my own indignation

Forever out of reach and set apart.

I sat not in the assembly of the mockers, nor rejoiced; I sat alone because of thy hand: for thou hast filled me with indignation. Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuseth to be healed? wilt thou be altogether unto me as a liar, and as waters that fail? -Jeremiah 15:17-18

I am so small on this walk upon the earth!

That a spoonful weighs a ton and the gilted

Pages cannot be turned by these weak fingers.

But even my tiny cry, nothing, a fly

You heard and fixed all things to come to know me

You heard and believed I could not breathe beneath

The strata of ages of iniquity;

We are molten below, trying to forego

Both price and prize for being here and bereft

Of the strength we’d had in the palm of your hand.

You held us dear, you held us dear, but we not

You, who held us dear and near, and hold us dear.

©2012, Amaya Engleking

*For Spanish translation of the final 11×11 poem, click here.


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