Faith Over Poverty

Featured · A Soft Heart

TahomaNative voice & healing

For the reader who has gone hard about the money and does not much like who he is becoming, this refuses to rebuke the bitterness and brings the whole unsoftened sentence to a God who does not flinch at it.

Job 7:1110 min

I Turn The Radio Up

After The Shutter Comes Down

Anything, Really

The Rota Went Up Without Me

The Plain Words Are The Prayer

The Hour The Boats Used To Go

What Sets Hard In A Cold Shop

Written, Not Wiped

I Turn The Radio Up

Mercies Get There First

The Light In The Sign

The Night Shift Nobody Asked Me To Work

The Shutter Goes Up

The Half I Am Not Driving Yet

The Sentence I Said To An Empty Room

The Sound Under The Floor

The Wednesday I Stopped Expecting

It Charges Us For Being Open

The Wall We Keep Wiping

The Question Under The Counter

One Location At A Time

The Wall Behind The Cot

The Name That Was Never On The Rota

There Is A Word For This And It Is Short

The Arithmetic Nobody Else Is Doing

Twenty Feet From The Kitchen Table

The Question Was Never The Problem

I Wrote My Name In Pencil

The Question I Keep Asking The Mirror

The Mouth I Saw In The Mirror

In The Same Ink As Hers

The Dry Side Of The Room

Their Kitchen Wall Was Dry

I Started It Twice

Six Names At The Gate

Nothing In The Book On Thursday

Good For Him, I Thought

Still Open At Twenty To Ten

Plain Enough For Vince

The Face In The Wheelhouse Glass

Say It To His Face

I Still Set The Chair Out

The Empty Floor At Ten To Six

The Row Of Little Clouds

The Bottom Stair

The Voice I Put On To Pray

The Knock I Cannot Afford

What The Form Would Not Let Him Say

The Row I Did Not Finish

Between The Halves

The Question I Ask The Window

The Calculation Comes Out The Same

What I Meant Before I Tidied It

He Has Never Once Used That Word

Enough Was Only Ever Daily

The Sixth Floor, Before Six

The Quietest Aisle In The Market

Grace Comes Dated

I Still Walk Down To The Water

Two Sentences, In That Order

The Name Under The New Paint

Nothing In Here Moves But Me

The List For Tomorrow Is Empty

The Tone I Used About The Tea

The Middle Of The Split

Ask Him On The Lane Home

The Apology I Add To My Own Name

I Drive With The Radio Off

The Name On The Visor

The Radio On Low

What I Say Before I Say It

Why Did It Land On Me

My Own Voice Off The Glass

The Window I Stopped Looking At

The Question I Only Ever Asked The Sea

Nothing Much At The Moment

The Question I Would Not Take Inside

The Coat Across My Knees

The Towels Came Out Warm

It Comes Back Through The Paint