by Kaitlyn Bancroft
Oh Lord, my God I do not know why I must tremble Why I must, in delirious thirst, Beat the ground til it’s wet with my blood I do not know why My hunger becomes madness becomes the ancient cry Of a beast that knows only that it suffers I do not know why I must wander And I do not know if the Promised Land exists But my God, my God The excruciating beauty of this place — How the stars weep tears of blood to see me writhe How the wastes whisper, “My child, my child” How the heat’s violent hands turn me molten and gold Insisting on something unspeakable, something divine How I’m learning the raw, primal worship of want How my wilderness is Holy Ground Because You walk in it
Kaitlyn Bancroft is a reporter with KSL.com in Salt Lake City, Utah. Previously, she’s written for The Salt Lake Tribune, The Spectrum & Daily News (part of the USA TODAY NETWORK), The Denver Post, Deseret News, and The Davis Clipper. Former and forthcoming publication credits include Hole In The Head Review, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Ocotillo Review, The Dread Machine, Bez & Co., and Fleas on the Dog.
Agape Review 