donnaker

In this wilderness of unhappiness

and lack of suffering,

I find myself making koala noises

and eating leaves to make a child laugh.   

I find my pages open to a dozen

half-done applications,

too ashamed to fill them to the full.

I find myself climbing into bed 

at eight, nothing left to do and staying

up until eleven doing things like this.

Today, I watched a child rolling, screaming, 

crying in the grass, ruining his pants,

because I would not let him say donnaker one more time,

and he did, five more times,

but it’s such a fun word, he said between sobs,

I couldn’t help it.

I gave him freedom to flail in his misery

until his mother came home.

As I backed out, I made koala noises at him

through the window of my car 

and he made them back 

in a bizarre reconciliatory language.

This evening I skipped bible study

and allowed myself to be unhappy.

Last night at bible study I confessed that

I have been prone to wallow.

The silence of God

lets me have my tantrum.

This poem is my bizarre reconciliatory language.

And in the very complaint,

a response.  

He never said I’d like it.  

Can't say I do.

In case you were wondering, he says it means toilet.