Flipping through my journal, I found a weird entry from earlier this year, some late-night, directionless stuff on what it means to be the first to do something. I have no idea what experience made me write about this, but rereading it made me think of the OW crew. I worked on it and turned it into a poem which I dedicate to everyone blazing trails.
A Sacerdotal Anecdote
(A Priestly Story)
By Erin Moore
There is much to be said
(And written down)
For going first.
Though commonly patronized or brushed aside:
Flowers before brides
And trumpets for kings.
It’s not an opening act.
(Preambles have no guts of their own.)
Those in the front draw lines in the shore,
And here What Is and What Will Be meet.
The water rushes in.
Armored for and against them,
Eager to shape critique and change
What the first have done.
It plays out on the edge.
(What a lonely game.)
And always a way of risk and uncertainty.
Some will turn in,
Overcome long before it’s over
And the fight has just begun.
But ever to the first,
Fire in the belly
Warms a freer heart,
Blazes raised by fear illuminate possibility,
The new and unseen.
(What we’re sure cannot be done)
The first take their power from present space
And put it in places built without walls,
Twisting, basic, tumultuous, fresh,
And watch what happens next.