Small Offerings

So I have a poem. I know it's been a long wait for everyone, but here it is. I'm actually very nervous about this one, because some of the imagery is very...personal. But it's a spiritual poem, one that has gone through a couple of revisions already.

If it's not obvious, the poem is about my comfort level with worshiping God during service, and how I worship, and my insecurities about letting myself go and trusting God which is something extremely pertinent to my life right now, and something I am having a BIG struggle with.

Small Offerings

Small, clenched fist.
This is what I offer to the sky.

I do not dwell in
Extended-arm independence,

I do not raise my arms in passionate release,
Swaying, stiff like branches caught in the wind.

My palm refuses to open in worship,
It is reluctant to give itself away,
Like a bride in an arranged marriage
Trapped between duty and desire,
Uncertain of it’s motive.

It folds within, afraid of ridicule.
It folds within, afraid of blind trust.
It folds within, afraid of unrequited love.

Yet, sticking out in a fist,
It remains.
Clenched, holding on to nothing but a thin pocket of air
Wanting space, desiring to be hidden by my side,

Yet, sticking out in a fist,
It remains.
Captivated by this childish impulse to love the invisible,
Clenched, holding onto gravity like an infant from the womb.

Halfway towards the sky
With a gentle raise,
Upper arm locked by my side
The slight, bend of my elbow,
Fingers curling,
Palms folded,
This fist will be held.