Barbies on Titanic

I left Barbies at Communion
(autographed by Mr. Goodyear himself)
on the counter by the bathroom sink.

(I only have time to read in the bathroom.
Sometimes I lock myself in.)

I won it, you know,
the book, not the bathroom sink,
and I was just about halfway through.

(these things take time when your daughter
likes to eat dog food while you’re in the bathroom.)

And then, in a moment of destiny,
two boys reenacting the sinking of Titanic
also drenched Barbies,
who had never even once thought of
buying a ticket on that ill-fated
bottle-turned-ship.

(I guess I should be glad it was sink-water
rather than other bathroom alternatives.)

horizon

by Erin Kilmer

and oh, You are mercy,
love, grace.

when sin’s curse would ravage our hearts,
stealing all hope for any tomorrow,
leaving us bereft, defeated, alone–

You step in then,
plead scars of nails,
death’s destroyers.

never without hope, Your people.
never without a forever of tomorrows
waiting just beyond sunrise.

we hide in hope, in Your rest.

and oh, You are mercy,
love, grace.

It is my weakness, this I know.

It is my flesh that looks at this shadow
and sees solid fear-bricked wall.

My flesh that cannot see beyond this curtain–
this thin and gauzy veil.

My selfish heart sees only this lonely place,
my hot tears running down and breaking heart.

I see pain and fear and just the unknown alone–
my flesh the fool, my heart the weakling.

Oh, cover me in grace and mercy,
for I am weak and afraid.

Take this selfish from my heart, and give me peace
and joy for one who comes closer to Your presence.

Oh to be with You now, with You,
on the other side, waiting for Your redeemed to join us,

instead of here, watching and fearing as one I love
steps closer day by day to eternity.

But I am here, now, living, alive, in this life not yet everlasting,
in a home alive with young vibrant life,

and You are here now, guiding me my Shepherd,
just as You guide all Your beloved through the shadow.

Oh, flesh, dying day by day, you will not triumph.
Death is swallowed up in victory,

and you will not conquer me with fear
or with anger or bitterness because

this flesh and this earth and this dying
cannot hold His redeemed down.

I will weep, yes, and grieve, and mourn,
because this is night and shadow and pain,

but joy comes in the morning, Son rising,
and these goodbyes we say are never forever,

but He is and home is and life is,
when pain and tears and partings part.

Oh guide me, carry me, carry us,
for we need You, Conqueror of the grave.

You are Strength in weakness, this I know.

Erin Kilmer

Powerless, Part 2

to see part 1, click here.

Powerless, part 2
by Erin Kilmer

I know you can see me here
when you look out your window.

I’m waiting for the wall to come down,
for the chains to be loosed.

I wait for you to walk out free,
holding hands with your beloved,

children romping around your feet.
I pray it will happen someday,

and we will walk to the market
and feel the firm, ripe peaches and plums.

We will picnic in the park with the ants
and fried chicken and corn on the cob.

But until then– I am without and you are within.
We cannot change that fact.

Although I sometimes find myself
bearing my own chains, enslaved for my own reasons,

I have been allowed to walk free.
I cannot understand this. Life is not fair.

I have been given a life outside the walls,
and I hurt to know that you see me here

with my fresh fruit and my red balloons
and the laughter of a high swing on a blue-skied day.

I never want my freedom to hurt you, there,
suffering behind stone. But I cannot lock myself with you.

I must live the life I have. I must enjoy my freedom
with gratitude. But I never stop thinking of you,

and my knees wear with prayers when I find
my bloodied fists beat against stone for nothing.

I pray and I love and my heart breaks and I wish
nothing but the best for you. And I live.

Poem Days

Poem Days
Erin Kilmer

Some days are poem days

every moment
running with ink
awash in words
pulsing with rhythm

Some days are poem days

every moment
leaping with color
singing with rhyme
dancing with imagery

Some days are poem days

But

some days

are simply

poetry.

branch

Branch
Erin Kilmer

dead stick
plastic posies
glued gaudy

see what i can do

spray perfume
imitate life
fake freshness

am i tricking you yet?

graft me in
root me deep
pull me closer

let me burrow down to find

everything
all i need
in You

i am learning You are all I need

Your fruit
Your fragrance
burst forth from me