He Called
These coins I count,
pinched from kindred flesh
strained from blood,
stain my hands and soul
mark me deep in debt
among my own.
A place of no return:
No gauge to know
the length I’ve gone
until a line is thrown:
“Follow me.”
A rope that reached
and begged my heart “take hold.”
A voice that leapt
into the depths,
a rescue and a probe.
A way to count among my own,
a call I didn’t earn,
a chance to leave the coins I’ve squeezed,
the lead to my return.
I stand up straight
and walk away,
yet dare not even crawl.
The debt I owe, I can’t repay.
I come this way because
He called.
Rita A. Simmonds
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