A Poem by Alexa Robbins

Fling it open.

Let the wind sweep through

this carefully manicured haven.

Knock the frames off the wall.

It’s okay that you haven’t made the bed.

This ache.

Like wrinkled linen

will one day be perfectly pressed.

The cavernous hole at the center of you

will be filled.

The question dancing in the hallways

of your heart

will be answered.

now in part–

but someday, in full.

One day the Man in White

will wrap His nail-peirced hands

around your middle

knitting together what has unraveled.

So open the window.

Let rivers of salty water spring

from your tired eyes.

Unravel.

One day the window will close.

And this ache–this wrinkled linen–

the hurt of being human will be like chaff.

So be here, now.

Feel it all.

Open the window.

Alexa is an actor turned poet— or was it poet first? (Classic example of chicken and egg). She

is based in New York City and has always loved language, but is enjoying a season where

words hold more weight than they ever have. She loves Mary Oliver (among others) time in

nature, and pursuing greater knowledge of God through writing, reading, and all the rest.

WINDOW OF TEARS

PLACES TO FIND LIGHT