THE PRINCESS AND THE VOID

The Princess and the Void By: Stephanie Josiah I'll never forget the day Our Ariana realized her Little brother, Ishypoo, Wasn't coming back It was late morning Early winter light was Cascading down through Bedroom curtains Spotlighting the hallway With metallic starbeams As I walked that longest walk From bed to where he used to sleep Just passing by - at first Hardly looking into the empty room - until I caught her profile Sitting in the mix of silver-blue And shadow Our fast-paced, warrior Princess sat statue-still Such an unusual way to find her One arm on her lap Covering her legs Which spilled off the side Of the vacant bunkbed, feet hovering over the floor Her face turned toward the indent In the mattress; outlined with his toys Where her other hand was pressed And the air went out of me The vacuum, the void Focal point in the room Highlighted by a grieving four year old My proud, booming girl now Sunken-in-slouched pulled down by loss's gravity An entire secret universe in a room Space, radiant light, undeniable dark, an unseen pull Shapes hanging in suspended Chaos-ordered A galactic museum featuring a wooden bunkbed-frame Observed by a too-young girl Realizing a piece of our Masterpiece Gone. Missing. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Horrible enough to be a parent burying a child. But to be a kid, burying a sibling? Only the strongest children get to wear these battle scars. And only the toughest families know they'll need a God-powered strength to get through a lifetime of grieving. I dedicate this poem to my children, my friend Lauren and Mitchell's family. Love, Steph

Faces by: Stephanie Josiah 2014

Faces
Not just people
But the expressions
That we meet

Places
Not just spaces
Of where we traveled
On the street

The corridors of cyber land
circles of people huddled in
Pages or groups and followers
Live interaction's subtle end

I miss the silent roar of conversation
The buzz of small talk in the air
I miss the human to human face time
Where folks say pull up a chair

It hit us hard
An epidemic called social media
Google plus, facebook and Twitter
And dang that Wikipedia!

We used to congregate for small groups
We used to gather at folks' homes
Now the libraries and meeting places
Are modern day catacombs

There's no connection
For all the WiFi
Not enough computers on the land
To bring back the days of people listening
It flew away with more broadband

A family outing at Outback
They ordered from the waiter, Bill
Then buried their heads in their cellphones
Like family time's against their will

I miss the glory days of story telling
And sitting outside on the stairs
The children yelling, playing, dancing
Folks swaying in rocking chairs

I miss the oldtime toys and train sets
The days before the batteries
Were required, not included
In our children's diaries

I miss looseleaf the pen and paper
The brand new or old hardcover smell
But now we have no time to stop in peace
In our convenient cyber hell!

What does the church of today look like?
Before we read our Bible app
We make sure it doesn't conflict
With any other cyber crap

And we pass the hoards of sorrowed faces
Not even looking and that's fine
Because charity has been made easy
We can give our gift online

I'm not saying burn your laptop
Like any tool, it has its perks
But have we traded in what made us human
And become cyberholic jerks?

Whispers

 By: Stephanie Josiah 2014

Whatever happened to

our responsibility

our overall mission

not impossible, just unfulfilled

 

The corridors we navigate

littered with voices

will they echo forever

when our spirits shed these ears?

 

voices… whispers of other former

earth wanderers reach me

asking about my faith

and why I never shared it?

 

inquiries carried on puffed breezes

wanting to know why I was so loud

about Stephanie and quiet

about Jesus

 

wanting to know why I wasted

precious tick-tocking seconds

of hope-bringing time

to cut side-eye glances at

 

women on street corners, or sagging baggy jeans

or dirty wounded hands holding up signs that

read, “will work for food”

and I missed my chances to share

 

the only bread

I know

that won’t go stale

 

Is that how I worship on Sunday?

Do I swallow in the God-sized drink

of volume, rhythm, hands lifted in swaying

connection Jesus sessions

 

and miss the mark?

In those four walled holy jam sessions

I practiced my connection with God

but forgot His people whispering outside