[audioplayer file=”https://admin.rattle.com/audio/SpeesJogging.mp3″]
The paths I love, my Lord, are narrow and switch-backed
and I’m puffing my way up them parsing
my disappointment—
Today the Vatican confirmed that the Church cannot
“bless the unions of persons of the same sex”
because they say that “blessing” treads
too close to “sacrament” for comfort, and moreover
sex divorced from procreation
is apparently still a sin.
Rattlesnakes drowse on the trails I love, Lord,
and I knew I wasn’t suicidal anymore
when I accidentally stepped
between a knotted pair napping in the dust.
The diamond band of their backs pressed
my brainstem even before I parsed them
into snake, into threat, but—here’s the miracle—
once I understood I still gasped “ohshit” and pounded away.
The seatbelts and bike helmets came back later.
Lord, I thought the rattlesnakes were going to be
metaphors. I thought that next I’d bring up
my mild familial allergy to apples just in case
the imagery wasn’t blatant enough already.
But, Lord, I loved the woman who ran
these trails with me. I didn’t know I loved her.
It ended badly. And the way that I love, Lord,
is narrow and branching and switch-backed and, Lord, I love you.
Lord, I will not let you go. Bless me. Let me bless you.