Upon the hot earth.

In all the world,
there was only one man
like Jonah,
who knew Your voice so well,
he came to ignore it,
and even in the belly of that
great big fish—
tree days, rotting and stinking
in the acidic waters,
crying out to the Lord
who wanted only to giveth,
while he longed only to take away—
he emerged at the feet of a people
he declared as rotten as the stink
in that stomach, and only had a heart
for the plant that gave him shade.

Of all the people, I link hearts with the prophets,
how great Thou art, and how great the journey,
the message.
How great the need and great the desire.
But like Jonah, how I’m spit out upon the hot
earth, eyes opened to the boiling sun,
wondering about the who behind the why,
wnd is it worth it,
wnd where’s a leaf when you need one.

© 2022 by Ericka Clay


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