Blessings at the Door

It was captivating.
Angelic, even.

The kind of beauty
That does not need to be explained
Why did the room shift
when it arrived.

I feel the blessings coming in,
not walking,
not waiting politely,
but rushing through the door
with luminous certainty.

After every despondent season,
after every antiquated fear,
after every plausible lie
that tried to make me doubt
my own divinity,

Here comes grace.

Here comes favor.

Here comes the soft thunder
of answered prayers
wearing gold at the wrist
and peace in the mouth.

I receive it
with humility,
with discernment,
with regality.

I do not pursue.
I do not implore.
I do not haggle
with what was already ordained.

I stand self-assured
in the doorway
of my becoming,

poised enough to bow,
powerful enough to receive,
and wise enough to know
That’s what is mine
can find me
without confusion.

Let the blessings rush in.

My spirit is ready.
My hands are open.
My home knows my name–

Published by Sherley Delia