I ask for his hand
He holds on tight
A curve is coming
It might mean a fight
But we stand together
Hand in hand, we’re one
We won’t be separated
We can’t be undone
©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020
Did we ask to exist?
Think on it…
A sentient thought that
Could whisper to a woman’s whom
“I’m ready.”
Or…
Perhaps,
As the scene was written
The ghosts within the mind of God
Asked for life,
And he let them free.
Maybe,
We itched with in his ear.
Or twined inside his being.
Pulling,
Begging,
To be.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps we were but silence,
Pregnant with potential.
A question ready to be asked.
A lesson waiting for the right
Scholars interpretation
And that was He.
Maybe…
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
As the weight of me grew,
I found myself stepping
On dreams
Braking them to shards.
Dancing on the glittering
Fragments
Of loss.
They couldn’t support me anymore.
As the weight of me grew,
I found I could push,
Pull,
Cary,
Loads that dwarfed others.
I didn’t always need help.
As the weight of me grew,
I gained,
I lost,
I changed,
Paying the cost of filling.
Often hungry for more.
As the weight if me grew,
I knew I would burst.
Self saturation
Dragging me down.
Stagnant strength.
I was lost in my own veins.
As the weight of me grew,
Swollen limbs restricted.
Forced to sit still
In filth
Unsated want.
I had, had enough of self.
As the weight if me dripped,
I raged.
Sweating,
Cursing,
Hurling up bits.
They had turned to poison.
As the weight of me balanced,
I was shame.
Until it rained,
Washing clean my ruin.
Revealing empty skin.
Hunger lingered on.
Longing to fill sagging emptiness.
Hunting purpose.
Seeking strength I once owned.
Still,
Leery of gorging on self.
I still remember that slow poison.
Then you took my hand
And the weight of me
Felt weak.
So,
You gave me a drink.
Homely soup for my soul.
It satisfied
And I shared myself too.
With crumbs of words,
A sprinkle of laughter,
We nourished each other.
And the weight of me found peace.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Thankful for tears
as I chop onions.
Release,
I didn’t know I needed.
Raw bitterness
dumped
atop sweet
orange flesh.
Juice
flows past my firmest grip.
Gentleness,
mixed with curry spice.
Squash and pear.
present with sadness.
Stewed together
then blended smooth.
A prosses,
as the bubbles rise.
God met me here.
The soup is done.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Who am I?
The one that you see?
What she thinks of me?
All they note?
Or the thing he missed?
Who?
Guilty
That I forgot
Lost in the mess
Of others’ thoughts
Spewed at my feet
Why?
Untranslatable
From one mind to another
Labeled with others
Experiences
Self perceptions that tell lies
Where?
Is the truth of me
In this ever shifting nexus
Is it written down
In His book of days?
Was I
Planted
A vine that climes
Grabbing hold of His
Provisions
Both free and confined
To grow along the trellis of
His cross
When I reach the top
Will I know?
Intertwined and grounded
By Him, with Him,
I am for Him
Upheld
Blooming in my seasons
Existing, a separate being
Singleness, within the
Universe’s Whomb
Bearing fruits as He names me
Loved
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
I recently enjoyed having a conversation with Ada from Quip Corner, about my book ‘The Branch That I Am.’
I enjoyed our conversation and I hope you do as well!
Ada is the author of the 101 QUIPS AND QUOTES BOOK COLLECTION. for the last 2 years she has used her YouTube channel Quips Corner to promote other authors in celebration of World Book and Copy Write day. I know she would love to have you tune in for the rest of the month. Don’t forget to go back and watch the interviews from earlier in April.
Thank you Ada, for blessing me with this interview!
Have you heard the plastic pull as knife slides across bag of black earth?
Have you felt the beginnings of warmth as matter clings to fingerprints and stains nails dark?
The dirt is chill. Yet the warmth flows, packed in pots of hope.
Have you listened to the rustle of paper release seeds from captivity?
Smallness containing miraculous promise.
Snow may linger, but add a pane of glass to a sun of spring and greenhouses blossom in
earliest spring.
It makes my heart ring.
Simple actions reminding, surrounded by soil’s grounding scent.
©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef
‘Pots of Hope‘ was originally published by Dwelling Literary in the GREENHOUSE Issue. Page 22.
I don’t know God
like He knows me.
I glimpse His mercy
in every tree
that oozes air
so I can breathe,
and drops its fruits
that I might feed.
I don’t know God
Like he knows me.
So much of him
I can not see.
But whispers of
His harmony
linger in
the slightest breeze.
Weather wind
or breath set free,
this circle
Is a part of we.
Never from it
Can we flee,
wrapped in infinite
artistry.
I don’t know God
Like He knows me.
But I’m learning
to just be.
In the being
He sets us free
to hear His heart-
beat out the plea
to all of His humanity,
“Come,
get to know me.”
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Wandering
across the expanse.
A dance In speckled darkness.
Glass vessel
reflected glimmers.
Slivers of light refracted through
Translucency,
casting a luminous cloud.
Lighting particles once hidden,
transformed into ethereal wings.
Enabling,
a bottled prayer
to heaven cling.
Whispers,
winging higher than my dreams.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
She started with the whitest sheet,
Epitome of incomplete.
So her words began to drip,
Complexion with it also slipped.
Human intensity,
Splashed the page in empathy.
Jumbled pinks with browns to shade.
Blues of descending hues arrayed.
It leached all, left her gray,
As hid behind the curtain fay.
Work complete, feeling weak,
Departing, finding empty streets.
She walked alone beneath the sky,
Breathing in as time let fly.
As the sunset kissed her face,
Flush across her cheeks raced.
So God filled his empty vessel,
Leaving heart with sparks to wrestle.
©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef
Mary Grace Writing 