Well, God, here I am:
transcribed, tagged, and targeted;
ready for anything.

Well…
actually…

Not really ready,
and definitely not
ready for anything.

What I am
is
terrified:
all of these forms
and papers
and people
and matter-of-fact
descriptions —
and cleaner-than-clean
rooms
with linoleum floors
that smell funny
and make me feel
even scared-er.

A little dirt,
a few dust bunnies,
and scatterings of pet hair
would be nice;
some homey and reassuring
touches
would really help
calm my nerves.

Oh —
and while You’re at it:
I’d like to know
how
it’s going to turn out.

Everyone
is so nice,
so professional,
so calm
and confident…

but they’re
over there —
on the other side
of the desk,
across the room,
behind the glass,
adjusting meters,
taking notes,
busy;
doing —

while I
am the one
being done to.

It’s different
over here;
here
I am consigned
to wait and see
and wait
and wait
and wait
it’s hard to be patient
and harder
to be a patient.

It’s hard
to quiet the whirlwind
of what-ifs
and worries;
it’s difficult
beyond telling
to find peace
when it’s so
damned hard
to find the right
elevator
to get where
I’m supposed to be.

There’s noise
inside my head
like an old-time teletype
clicking and clacking away,
so it is hard to hear
what people say;
it creates
a kind of deafness
that pushes me
inside myself,
into a deeper Center

alone
but not lonely.

There
I can be still
and silent,
softened
by the furor,
finding me
securely
in the midst
of You:
unafraid
and trusting.

Well, God, here I am.
And here You are.

Amen.