Half-Life

By Jessica Lake

In this whirlwind world of wonder and woe,

Why should I weep for what I went without?

God casts us, young souls, from on high—

And down we tumble from vaulted heavens.

In the turbulence and tumult of descent,

We girdle the girth of mighty Earth,

Finding purchase where we may.

Many, ill-starred like myself, land in shadow.

Thus germinating in half-light,

We arise: stunted, gnarled, and crooked.

Some squat grim and ugly in surrender;

Others stretch, tenuous, reaching for the light.

These are my wretched sisters and brothers,

We sufferers of injustice and manyed traumas.

We weep, wail, and bemoan our ungracious use.

Where is the grace in granting us gifts

Only to curse us in equal measure?

This give and take in any deity is ill-mannered.

It teaches only that those who suffer

Should do so in silence and gratitude.

It scolds us as overly blessed—

As if to live at all were too much grace.

What am I to make of Heaven and Hell—

Two households alike in dignity?