Madness

I spent one summer in shouted arguments with my mother,

All of which I regret.

Not because she was right

Not because I was right

But because neither of us listened to the other.

I spent two weeks that summer with sixty other kids

Who were in love with God

Some more than others

Many more than I

And I admired them, and wondered how they did it.

And there was this girl

And she was one of them

It seemed as if she had it all together.

She was in charge of devotions

Of course.

And she prayed this prayer

And it was beautiful

She was crying, and pleading with God to break us.

I could not figure it out

Of course.

I spent the rest of that summer trying to solve it--

Why ask to be broken?

I have heard it throughout my memory

I have heard it from many people

Be broken, and submit.

The rest of that summer became the next few years:

Try as I might, I would not break.

I could not desire to be broken;

I could not ask anyone to break me.

Submission should be the result of a choice.