Rowing alone in the dark, where the forest bares it alms in the dark-segregated but fixated -finding the light in the dark. Blindly knowing hope-
what privilege of hope is to conjure up a march, when your body can longer move,
what privilege to hope, to believe beyond a massacre, beyond home,
what privilege to make it home at night in the dark and find your body in place -where you last took off your shoes and slipped on your slippers.
what privilege of hope to use your grandmother’s prayer closet -when she herself is no longer of this world, but her hope, her prayers still pray for you beyond the grave
What privilege of hope to taste – mama’s cornbread pudding, in grandma’s green bean casserole on a Sunday
What privilege of hope for children to play alone in the dark,
make it back inside and watch the sunrise.
kindness sis. Krissy
A Poet's Vision 
I will be thinking about what it is to have the “privilege to hope” for a long time. I will be thinking about finding a way for it to be in a sermon, because in addition to this poem’s particularity, there is also the universality of particularities in the lives around us.
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iron sharpens iron and i’m humbly grateful ,😊 thank you Maren
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This strikes a deep chord. Having the privilege to hope, to know that the darkness is safe and will pass — it is a privilege. Not everyone has it. This poem will sit with me for a long time.
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humbly grateful for these words thank you..😊
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Krissy, you just ministered to me and it’s not even Sunday! Amen!
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😊😎 your comments are so awesome – thank you
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This really spoke to me. Thanks!
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humbly thankful that it did, Happy weekend to you Lorriebowden 😊
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