The Weight of a Sparrow

The weight of a Sparrow

By Elisa Parmer

Had I the gift of penmanship

I would scratch you out a poem.

One with phrases so light,

They'd ride on the gentle breeze of a summer day

You Created;

Spoken on breath soft enough to kiss infant face

Powerful enough to push waves over cities.

And my words would be deep.

Deep like the ocean current that carries great sea turtles through

A poem for you

To your Glory, lest I should boast in my own fancy airs.

And who cares

If my metaphors seem weak

Or too ridiculous to speak.

This is not for the eyes and ears of doctors of literature

Learned theologians or even Televangelists.

For only you know the price on my sins.

Only you know the measurement of Grace required to pay my slaver.

You didn't offer a loan

Deferred for six months post my graduation to righteousness.

But you bartered your own bread and wine

You told me to drink of it often to remember the exchange.

Never did anyone offer such a sum

For an item so in need of repair.

You shared

The inheritance of a firstborn

With a dead man walking.

For that ransom I would paint you a seascape

A classic composition where the water

Is so vivid

You would keep a safe distance as not to get your shirt wet.

And I bet

I have disappointed you over and over.

There are days where I put more faith in the luck of a four leaf clover

Yet you are patient with me

Like waiting on the branches of a young tree

You wait,

Participate in my growth

Until the day you make me strong enough

To support the weight of a sparrow.

And even if an ounce more would crack the wood and shake my leaves

You delight in my strength.

Because for the first time

It came from your roots.