habakkuk

she keeps reading Habakkuk, and of
withering fig trees.
Trying her best to make sense of the universe that
lets her believe:
"You'll be a hero someday, and
you really aren't as lonely as you think you are"

on Tuesday nights and
Christmas afternoons,
when everyone else has gone to sleep,
she stumbles outside to
the car in the driveway only to find
the windows left down and snow
covering all the seats.

She keeps hearing voices and the
stone cold carburetor that's
trying its best to take her to that place
she's never seen, but
will know when she's find it, because
"you really aren't as lost as you thought you were"

on Sunday mornings and
in brand new Decembers
when she can't remember why she's still in bed,
the phone is ringing but
she won't answer it because
she knows what he's going to say:

"though your fig tree may not harvest,
you must still rejoice"

and she'll wander the silent streets
just to realize it doesn't get any deeper than that.

-Morgan Harper, 2007-05-23