by Robin Offerdahl
Late autumn casts its early morning shadows
through a cold and unforgiving wrought iron fence
below the looming branches of a leafless tree

where her silhouette is frozen in the fleeting images
momentarily scratching themselves
across the back wall of a church

where she stands
tattered hymnal in hand
listening to the muffled voices of a choir
singing their Amazing Grace

where the burdening weight
of her self-condemning unworthiness
prevents her from approaching any closer

where she has yet to grasp
were it something deserved
it would cease to be grace.
Robin Offerdahl lives in the San Diego area with his wife and two daughters ages 13 and 11.  His work has previously appeared in Snakeskin Poetry Webzine, Haruah: Breath of Heaven, and Halfway Down The Stairs.

© 2010, Robin Offerdahl