ordinary hours

What if your name was Beloved?

(as you are).

Sitting there, reading something on the bed,

glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose.

I see you

through the crack in the open door.

The room where I sit rocking Ezra is dark,

except for golden streetlights

shining through the dusty shades.


After I put him to bed he reawakens,

restless, crying. More comfort is needed.

I get that.


What if, under this warm roof

we all are really

being made new?

A night where dark comes early,

where we have fights and tears,

and later quiet, music.

It changes everything to know

he holds all things,

holds all things together.

He numbers the stars,

and we are a delight to him



in the lamp lit room.

Night fallen over us as the cold front moves in,

as the small ones finally succumb to sleep,

as we remember again our names.



Add yours →

  1. A beautiful thought that he holds all things, us too. Beautifully written.

  2. This us SO beautiful, Ange. Thank you for sharing.

  3. thank you for reading, h&n!

  4. More comfort is needed. I get that.

    … Having just gotten up to give that one more time, I’m encouraged and hopeful in your words. Thank you dear wonderful friend!

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