I lose myself in the sound of summer rain,
fling into the free-fall,
slip into a swollen stream,
ride the river-run down to the sea,
rise again into the sky,
lose myself…
~ Rebekah Choat
Author Archives: Becka Choat
Dreary
It’s just raindrops on
my glasses or the crack in
the windshield blurring
my vision. I assure you,
it isn’t tears in my eyes.
~ Rebekah Choat
Mary Rejoices (Easter)
It wasn’t that my sight was blurred with tears;
I’d spent them all, a day and long night past.
My vision wasn’t clouded by my fears;
I had none left. The greatest and the last
had happened. Nothing worse could ever be.
My hope, my heart had died. It was my mind
was lost in fog so thick I couldn’t see,
so dense I couldn’t hear footsteps behind.
I scarce could make out that someone had spoken,
could hardly move my lips to make reply;
still blind, I turned, and then the curse was broken;
light, breath, and life came bursting through the sky!
Hell, earth, and heaven echoed in His voice –
Death died, Love lives – my soul made whole, rejoice!
~ Rebekah Choat
Mary Resigns Herself (Pre-dawn, Sunday morning)
This morning looks the same as yesterday –
the sky is grey; a fine cold mist is falling.
I still can’t think of anything to say –
no words to pray. I hear that dove still calling.
The trees are greening as the spring comes on,
though slow as dawn after a night of grieving;
the sparrows chatter in their careless tongue;
the frost is gone; the winter birds are leaving.
It’s hard to make believe it matters now,
and anyhow, what is the use of trying
to act as if the world’s not crashing down,
when all around, life’s swallowed up in dying?
I honestly believed that he would save
us all. Now what’s to do but tend his grave?
~ Rebekah Choat
Mary Despairs (Holy Saturday)
Yesterday I thought that I would weep forever.
Now I know that there is nothing left in me –
no tears, no sighs, not a word.
~ Rebekah Choat
Mary Muses (Maundy Thursday)
All is quiet; not quite still.
A mourning dove repeats his trill,
“I am here. I am here.”
The sun is chary of the sky.
A sparrow ventures to reply,
“right here, right here, right here.”
Though it’s morning, light is dim.
Shadows are approaching him,
drawing near, more near.
Clouds grow darker through the day;
a fresh’ning wind touches his face.
He swallows down his fear.
Evening dies into the west.
His heart knows and his face is set;
the way ahead is clear.
At table with the ones he loves,
outside the walls he hears the dove
again call, “I am here.”
~ Rebekah Choat
Hallucinations (NaPoWriMo 2019/13)
In the middle of
the night, I swoon to music
no one else can hear.
~ Rebekah Choat
Holy Wednesday
The sky grows darker still,
and still the clouds won’t loose the rain.
How much anticipation
must be borne before the pain?
~ Rebekah Choat
My Collection (NaPoWriMo 2019/12)
They’re just stones, mostly
brown or grey, more or less round
and smooth in my hand.
They’re also bits of places
someone I love thought of me.
~ Rebekah Choat
Going Back (NaPoWriMo 2019/11)
The road still runs straight
but the surroundings have changed.
The once-dry creekbed
is bubbling over its banks;
the meadow is all abloom.
~ Rebekah Choat
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