Edges—Lee Kiblinger

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Do not reap to the very edges of your field . . . Leave them for the poor and the foreigner.
- Leviticus 19:9-10

Edges

by Lee Kiblinger

I scrub again at the kitchen sink—
a steady stream spilling
into my parched hands
and frustrated dreams
while I sputter
tepid pleas
that berth on
the basin’s edge—

words risen from my own deep—
from the grocery lane
or waiting game;
petitions piled
like laundry,
sighed in anxious nights,
mumbled between bites,
churned cheap
from the church pew—

maybe He will consider
the edges
of this filthy sink,
garnering drops
of my disregard,

	(like exhaust, spewn,
	hail mary’s and hallelujahs
	in one breath,
	leftovers landing
	on fringes
	for the broken,
	for myself)

and scatter
the spittled seeds
of my sore needs,

crumbs wanting

to leave the brink,
this sink

and inch toward
the heart
of the harvest.

---

Lee Kiblinger is a teacher and late-blooming poet from Tyler, Texas, where she spends her time devouring novels, grading essays, laughing with three teenagers, and enjoying poems with Rabbit Room poets. Her work can be found in Heart of Flesh, Solum Journal, Ekstasis, The Way Back to Ourselves, Clayjar Review and others. You can read more of her poetry at www.ripplesoflaughter.com.

Photo by David Babayan on Unsplash