I. Lamenting Psalm 16
The boundary lines have fallen
for me in barren places; where,
O God, is the inheritance
of a womb that encircles no child?
The paths of life of many who surround
me converge on this shared
point: dimpled hands grasping
for Mama’s fingers, perfect pink
little lips wailing for her in the still
of night, rosy cheeked-faces plump
for the poking. As for me,
have You forgotten, God, that You
gave me arms to cradle a child, too?
Have You abandoned me to an existence
that will never know the hum
of life blooming within my body,
embracing the innermost parts
of me, which You Yourself
declared was fitting to do?
II. Ekphrasis for an Empty Womb
Every minute my heart bleeds,
please remind me these pangs thrum
healing’s rhythm, the chance to know
the Father in desperate ways only
the childless can. This side
of Heaven is bearable through fractures
letting tendrils of light break
through, and this lonely earth
is the place where we come
to know You through Your holy salve,
for when we walk with You
on the path of life eternal, we will no
longer need our wounds bound.
Father who frames my heart to hope,
teach me that everything empty
is glorious, spelling in unseen letters
the unforced language of trust.
III. My Portion and My Cup
Find me in a wasteland with lungs
releasing hard-won gratitude
for this parched soil. I am not wandering—
I am expecting a harvest
of iron-willed joy from seeds sown
throughout winters of white-knuckled surrender.
My trust is not childlike.
With hungry hands, I have clawed
this prayer from grief unflinching as granite:
I may or may not name a child one day,
but I will name the blessings You
have flung from the Heavens.
This one is Healing. This one is Presence.
This one is Life, and this one, Abundance.
This one, rarest of all, is Knowing You.