Bryana Joy Johnson
First Prize: 2011 Novice Christian Poetry Contest $500
About this Poet:
Bryana is a homeschool graduate who was classically educated using the Charlotte Mason philosophy of education. Her many interests include political science, educational theory, poetry, art, music and literature. She is thrilled by language and the flow of words. Bryana has placed in multiple poetry contests and writes about literature and current events over at www.thehightide.com. She grew up overseas in Turkey and currently resides in Dallas, Texas.
That You Love One Another
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God…and the light shines into the darkness
and the darkness has not overcome it. The Gospel of John, Chapter 1
that your joy may be full, every
buttercup glossy, and the lichen
green crawling up the steep and the
mossy banks of the algae-blue pond,
too immaculate with bubbles and
bryophyte fronds for explaining.
That your pores secrete sheer love
here—residue of living—and your
tongue flap, always giving names to
the sweetness of the way. Slap
the globe under a crystal coverslip,
and tip the slide to rays and after all
you can go ahead and call it good.
That the blueberries dotted
juice-busting in the pancakes be
perfect and the hurts and the
headaches treated with the best
medicine—joy incandescent, Edison,
that glows outward and around
into light and surround sound.
That sirens clang music on the
inside drums. And after, when the
crying comes, that you remember Me.
Oh, that you not forget! That you by
means waste the wine-red cup,
that you break flesh into breadcrumbs
and taste the ways I poured it into you.
Friends, I have called you friends
and given you the oceanic unplumbed
places, scratched your faces with
unsounded depths and sight
that you might know the breadth,
the width, the height so well you speak
it in your sleep, murmur it to the
cold, the blaze alike, let it take hold.
That you not forget in all the flood, the
flailing, about the blood, the nailing
flesh on wood while the pulse roars,
the life ebbs out for them—the
friends, you know. In the end, on the
bend around the road where the rubber
meets the asphalt and the mud-splash
splatters and things count, well
this will be all that matters.
Copyright ©2011 Bryana Joy Johnson