The barbed wire
looks like a pricky pear--
needles black
and sharp against
the pink sky of sunset.
Doors sliding,
opening, closing,
before me,
after me.
And nodding to
uniformed grey strangers
behind thick glass
as IDs are passed.
God is somewhere
waiting
inside
this dark place.
Somewhere
hiding
among the gang tattoos
and the pepperspray.
Belt and shoes
off and in the bin.
Bible scanned
and flipped through
for contraband.
Hands patting
me down.
So it begins
the search this night.
God is somewhere
in here
among the men
dressed in white.
...trudging into the distance in the bleeding stinking mad shadow of Jesus...the Lord out of dust had created him, had made him blood and nerve and mind, had made him to bleed and weep and think, and set him in a world of loss and fire... --Flannery O'Connor
I've been reading Manley P Hall's book and a theme that I keep seeing, although not at all the theme of the book, is that God is everywhere. Thanks for the poem. It is conformation.
ReplyDeleteThat is powerful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYou're doing a very Christlike thing in your involvement with inmates.
ReplyDeleteStrong words.
ReplyDeleteGod *is* somewhere even in the times it may seem he is not