Muscle Memory
When the world falls apart around me,
when the rug is pulled,
and the house is on fire,
when all I can do
is swallow the cry in my throat,
take me to the table.
Tell me how people have fed each other.
Tell me how they’ve torn the bread
with wrinkled hands
and children’s hands.
Tell me how they’ve said, This love is for you,
as they looked you in the eye.
Then take me to the font.
Float my hands in the pool.
Let me feel weightless.
Tell me to leave my burdens there.
Then take me to the front doors.
Remind me how we throw them open.
Take me to the creaky pews,
pews that have held the straightened spines
and silent prayers of so many.
Take me to church.
Move me through the rituals.
Tell me why it matters,
so that next time,
when someone else’s world falls apart,
I will have the muscle memory to share.
Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed
reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art
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