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Cindy L. Beebe

I am married and a homeschooling mother of two boys. I wrote poetry as a child, but only recently started writing again. My desire for my writing, other than the joy it gives me, is that it bring honor to my God, in whatever way He chooses.

This poem was written about ministry to kids growing up in the projects of inner-city Memphis, and about one little girl in particular.

Loving Her

I don't really want to bring her over.
I'm just not in the mood.

I know
that she will take so much from me,
my breathing space
swallowed by her constancy.
Her chatter will be the hungry sort,
craving a full-course meal
of response.

I know, too, what going there means.
I have to see
the houses shrink, succumbing,
the poison seed of poverty grown old,
grown strong,
the children swarming in the trap,
the desperate ones, chewing off their legs—
hoping for escape,
or at least a full mouth.
Going there, I have to hear the world howl.

I know that You want me to be
a glass upturned.
I see my heart shrivel, a grape
folded on itself, becoming raisin.

And then I see You,
on Your knees, the water bowl beside You,
dirty feet in Your hands.
And the light falls,
just so,
across them—
feet I know, have walked in
all the grace-soaked, easy days of my life.

Copyright ©2005 by Cindy L. Beebe