Back Porch Poetry

I the tin cup on Your porch rail,

dented, mud-smeared,

cradling stray and crumbling leaf -

yet noticed by You,

taken up and carried in

to the kitchen of God,

washed in Blood,

dried with fine white linen

and set up with the vessels of noble use …

underwhelming, overvalued, dizzied by the height and

giddy with the grace that pours me full of You

and lifts me,

gleaming golden,

to Your lips.

--Sandy Mayle Erie, PA