God, remind me that it can be
a most ordinary sound —
the backbeat of a pop song
from, you know, that time,
or something that isn’t a sound at all —
the scent of mother’s cologne,
some popcorn at the youth group,
a match striking, wet dog fur,
or the sight of the sunrise,
or maybe the way a child I love
puts a trusting finger
right in my despicable hand,
as if I didn’t just deny
three, twelve, twenty-five times.
I heard the prophesy
and I just didn’t think it would be me.
Everyone in the congregation
has done the same thing.
Remind me before I read these words,
that people are really listening
for something as ordinary and irritating
as roosters –
the thing that makes each of us
run away and cry.