My soul magnifies the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior. Her eyes have scoured the floor for me: I, among the dust of earth, the busy victor of my stories; I, who have been so afraid, avoiding strangers, conversations, any chance that I might come to meet her gaze from across a crowded corner, from across a guarded border, from across the dinner table where she’s waiting.
Your eyes would turn to conquer me, your arm would hold me flat against the rhythms of your breathing: I, who have been so full of things; wealth, chiefly, cheaply held like tight fists in a boxing ring where I’ve been laid out for the count. It came so quickly to my chest it came without a sound: the glory of your Holy Name, sailing through the ages, ripping through the pages of the good we thought we’d made.
Here with stars above my head, bad at hiding, good as dead, out of breath, distressed and bleary eyed; you who threw me come to lay, propped by an elbow, near my face: you hoist me up and I am magnified.