Bruised-Fruit Heart

Oh my Lord, I am not unblest! 

There’s a great sweltering love in Salat;

Each time, an open hand,

Heart outstretched.

A great aching love for our Creator.

There is a small love in this life, too.

It’s a shock sometimes that I’ve stayed stable but it’s the little things that can tether you.

My friend’s orange, placed safely in my backpack, 

Its space traded–a second before, it took up the cookie I gave to another friend.

My old beat up shoes (which were at one point white). 

I refuse to get rid of them;

They’ve carried me far and I have a great love for them and all they’ve been through.

I’ve always loved too much,

Too hard.

My heart is, I suspect, bruised fruit.

Soft and malleable and sickeningly sweet,

I’m sure it can leave hands sticky and mouths watering.

The orange zest fills my nose even on the floor of my room.

And it seems perfectly juicy,

Although I confess I’d eat it even if each segment was shriveled and dry.

This beautiful, perfect clementine,

Lovely and pure.

But oh Lord,

I will leave my friend a small $5 and throw away some of his trash in return for a safe drive home.

(And I’m sorry for the wrong turn I told him to make.)

It is my small offering of love.

Please take it,

Oh Lord, please accept it!