Questions for the one who answers / by Megan Hollingsworth

Why does the rooster crow

all day?

Why does the cabbage unfurl

only at her edges?

Where, when dragonfly dies, does her turquoise 

and emerald go?

Who will shelter me like my mother and father,

the sure house passing?

Oh, will my questions answered

be a fall from grace, leaving me

a filthy preacher of truth?

Or will I be penetrated with the power

of gratitude learned through trial

that my eyes may see beyond forgiveness

to compassion for the innocent who stole

muntjac’s favorite bed in the woods of wild forbidden?

May I fumble with these questions

only to find grace catching me in the arms

of the brother who prays within refined walls

and the sister who laughs at the dark night, my dear log troll

the silly wise one who calls me dirt witch, a shining ruby

in the dust?

May I find shelter from the barking night in you

not because I am tame or wild

but because your eyes see all the way through me?

Of these questions, at this smitten hour

pray tell about the cabbage first.