Ghost Plant

One story
up, under a roof,
under a perfect yellow moon,
I wait.
I watch oxygen expand
into greatness.

Midnight sleeps an ear ache away
from me snoring.
Oxygen starts its engine, then
shuts off again.

God grows in a cradle like a
ghost plant, a living reminder
of what is yet to be dead.

One story
below me, kids are
throwing stones.
An eye for an eye,
till war takes them both.

When tonight catches up, it will
pluck spots from the day until
we sing the song of
the crickets.
I will wait for God to grow
out of his cradle, strike a match
against conscience and finally,
rename me.

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4 thoughts on “Ghost Plant

  1. Maggie dearest…I call The Holy Spirit “Mama” and I literally and truly believe that Holy Spirit is feminine…and oh do I EVER feel Her pleasure in your being…you are one of Her daughters of whom She is MOST PROUD.

    I am so honored that I have the privilege of reading your amazing, honest work.
    Keep it up! Your skill is rapidly growing!

    Much love,
    Charissa

    • you are so AMAZING!! Thank you so much. You are just encouraging and so supportive and I appreciate that so much!

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