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It is You who are knocking at the door
Holding your basket of bread
The only catch is my hesitancy
And you are not one to barge in.

My small self does not want to die
It still resides in the house of fear
Behind a closed door of suspicion.

What I know seems better
Than what I don’t.
I am familiar with
the uses of my time.
And there are many ways to
Occupy the mind.
These are the excuses I give.

I stand in the in-between
With my fingers
On the latch,
Praying to release it.
It is a weak prayer.

There are some who pray.
“Tear me apart, and put me
back together in your image.” *
Help me to pray like that,
A flinging open the door,
Letting it bang against the wall
Come what may.

* Catherine Doherty

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