Praise Songs

You can't get enough of them. You eat
your peck of dirt, hear more
than your share of bruise and blame,

vomit and loss. Alleluias are few
and far between. You dip your sop
in bitter herbs more than once a year.

Pure praise? We dole it out in miser's
spoonfuls, trying to sweeten oceans
of regret with a single swallow of sugar.

Think of it as homeopathy, this drop,
one clear note piercing the silence like
an angel's cornet. Sometimes it only takes

the one note, blown over and over,
to make walls crumble. Think Jericho.
Think juju. Let your head swell

like dough rising, dip the bread
in warm gravy for a change. Drink in
the sweet wine, wash out the year's dregs.

Don't taste and retaste your own bile.
You're not a cow. Each morning is fresh,
like dew. Even a tear is nothing but salt water.

First published in Whirligig, Winter 2001