Broken and Spilt Out by Barbara Greenwood

A trail of coffee drips from counter to floor,
the cup in pieces, the cookie in crumbles.
Broken and spilt.

I quickly get the broom and sponge
to hide away all traces of disorder and imperfection.
I make myself useful, Good Housekeepingly Successful.
I am restored back to my own sense of order.

At the cross, Lord, you were broken and spilt out.
If I had been there, would I have rushed in too quickly
to gather up the pieces before someone stepped on them and got hurt?
Would I have taken my sponge and wiped away
the stain of your blood upon the wood before it set,
before it could do its redeeming work?
Would I have waited in that moment of seeming chaos and despair
until you restored the world back to your sense of order?
Would I have realized that you were the exchange –
the stain of my sins absorbed by the stain of your blood?

Broken and spilt out.
Of all the stains, blood is the hardest to get out.


Published by

Rick Wilcox

Editor in Chief | Literary Life