Gently Blowing

Last year,

Was the year of sitting

In and stirring the pot

Of turmoil bubbling

Under my surface.

I sprinkled in a little

Of you breaking my heart

And her refusing my hand

And chopping each long

Day I suffered until

It confettied within my palm.

And there I’d go, releasing

Each pinpoint of pain,

Watching it strike the hot

Depths of all my fear

Until my fear was all I knew–

My little gift, my fleshly sacrifice,

Waiting for Him to throw me out,

And start all over. But He took

Each and every part

Of this broken heart of mine,

Keeping its beating heat intact,

And only gently blowing

Where my hurt grieved me

Most.