Lord, eight countries
bombed in one year —
our president’s distinction
alphabetically:
Iran, Iraq,
Nigeria, Palestine,
Somalia, Syria,
Venezuela, Yemen.
Add Minnesota.
We’re great again.

Meanwhile, you heard,
his peacemaking claims:
Thailand/Cambodia,
Congo/Rwanda,
Israel/Hamas,
Israel/Iran,
India/Pakistan,
Armenia/Azerbaijan,
Egypt/Ethiopia,
Serbia/Kosovo.
He wants a prize
before he dies.

Did you notice the peace?
You saw the deals made,
gilded with self-interest.
But no love was shed
by the spider, the snake,
the toddler driving the car,
the sociopath-in-chief.

It does not feel good
to make these lists,
to wretch these labels, Lord.
But it feels better –
like tagging a rainstorm
an “atmospheric river,”
or a snow disaster
a “bomb cyclone.”
There is comfort
in naming the dreadful.

But there is more comfort
in turning into your call:
“Set your face
like flint
toward good this year.”
Selah.
“Hold on
to each day’s blessings
for dear life this year.”
Because life is dear
and love cannot be controlled.
It can yet be received,
cherished, nurtured,
but never commanded.

If love, or if I, seem paltry,
that may be very true.
But you are truer, Lord.
If my trust stumbles
in the face of fears and faults,
you remain trustworthy, Lord —
our dawn after the storm
who will not be hooded,
the colors of the bow
that no lie can dim.