A patient on an addiction-recovery ward asked the chaplain, “How can my family ever trust me?”
“Exactly,” replied the chaplain.
- Marion Thullbery’s dissertation

I sat up in bed, said,
God, I disappoint.
Ticking clock answered: Ex-act-ly.

Stood at the window to the dark outside. Said,
God, I'm still gone so much.
Nearly-full moon, setting, said: Just so.

Blearied to the kitchen, rattled coffee makings. Said,
God, the Earth groans, and I consume so much.
Faucet gushed: Yesss.

Stood on the driveway, hesitating to bend for the paper. Said,
God, this war, my government's corruption, my country's coldness to the poor or anyone who needs healthcare, its mania for wealth and stuff; and, God, I spent most of yesterday, same as the day before, forgetful that I am enough.
The newspaper shuffled: About that first bit, right on.
Then, probably around the obit page, whispered: Yes to the second bit too.

The wind blew through the trees,
and I heard the morning birds.

Gainesville, 2008.08.07

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