April Ojeda

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Black Pearl

A nameless fool stole a treasure
That didn’t belong to him.
True, it was no great beauty, but it was
My own, and my only, pearl.
He took it by force, with careless greed,
Ripped right out of my clumsy hands.
He never even looked back as he
Passed me by,
Just a rough grab and run like hell
In the dark.

He didn’t even want it,
not really,
Only the quick, the hollow fix
It afforded him.
And then?
And then he rounded a corner
And threw the damned thing out
With the trash he carried.
So there I stood, stunned and silent,
A nameless fool–a graceless girl.

It’s my secret now, my black pearl
Buried treasure lost to space and time.
But treasure, however hidden, is never
Without a map — or a hunter.
And it calls to You in broken hallelujahs–
Find me.
Bring light, bring life
For fools like him,
For lost girls like me.

Black Apple

the black apple
you ate for the first time today
and thought
intoxicating and earthy
like a sweet southern wine,
is also favored
by maggots, wormy and gray,
and likely to dry-rot
without some divine
of an Other to cultivate life;
a faithful hand to grant
sustenance and shield,
to foster fruit that might yield
to you
its juices and flesh
in a pleasing sacrifice.

God of Hope

glory to God in the highest
for the imperfect and the strange,
for the unbalanced, bent, and cracked,
for the unworthy and the scarred,
for all things broken, left behind,
forgotten, refused, tossed aside.

for such as these, on bended knees,
the well of Hope springs infinite.

April Ojeda is a teacher and writer who lives in the Texas Panhandle.  She writes poetry as a means of prayer and of processing daily life. She enjoys exposing students to new adventures in reading and writing and finds her greatest inspiration in the outdoors.

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