April 7–13 ❘ Filled
Filled
My son calls home
with questions.
I see the tears, hear the twist
in his tightened throat.
He is like Joseph in the grove,
tongue bound and seized by fear,
desperate for rescue
from gathering shadow.
He is like Nephi in the desert,
crafting a bow and one arrow
but still worried the Lord
won’t guide its flight.
I sit with him in his wilderness,
share the weight of his desolation.
I open my mouth and wait
for words of light.
Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry
Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com
