Call and Response.2

She Poses the Question

If I am thirst
And you are quenching, soaking water
From a clear, cold spring
Whose source lies deep
Within the Earth
What, then, am I to you?

If I am hunger
You are fresh-baked bread, still warm,
With melting butter
And you feed me
Til I am full;
What, then, am I to you?

If I am homeless
You are shelter from the cold,
From wind and rain and heat
And nameless danger
In the dark;
What, then, am I to you?

If I am hopeless
You are possibility
And prayer and praise and joy;
An arc of rainbow,
Radiant light;
What, then, am I to you?

I Reply

In our waking hours,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

When standing at the precipice;
a great falling away of the Earth,
our eyes cannot take it all in
and in our humanness we ask,
“How far down?”

In the suspended moment before falling asleep,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

When alpha waves tug us into slumber,
we cling to the undone of the day,
choosing list making over prayers of gratitude
and in our humanness, we ask,
“What will tomorrow bring?”

In our waking moments,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

We rise with a sense of newness and wonder,
as the day blots out the sacredness, you ask,
“What, then, am I to you?”
And in my humanness, I reply,
"Everything."