How I used to envy people
who, possessed with certitude,
soar above the plain and steeple
setting straight the misconstrued.
As a young adult, I traded
childhood spontaneity
for a rigid creed, persuaded
sure’s the only way to be.
Ultra-literal allusions
struggled to accommodate
metaphorical exclusions.
Feathers flew in hot debate.
Noisy flaps in lieu of balance
simulate a mighty whir
but, when gripped in zealot talons,
dogma’s merely tufts of fur.
Comforted by faith (the closest
place I’ve ever felt I stood
to the truth) I learned osmosis
wouldn’t make me right or good.
Soon the need for battle dwindled,
frantic worries losing steam.
Disencumberment rekindled
wonder in the Master Scheme.
Then, ostensibly regressing,
tender roots began to sprout.
I became immersed in guessing,
softly growing into doubt.
———
2004 Mary Boren
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