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By Bonita Jewel If faith could make a sound, I wonder now What syllables, what stresses, might it use What pronunciation guide might show me how To ply my faith with the key to solve this ruse Instead, I often stumble in the dark Some light beyond my reach my only hope Instead, I search for flints to make a spark But drop them in the mud and start to grope For methods, for some stringent rule to guide Me through this arbitrary string of days Regardless of relentless efforts plied So often I still wander through this maze Is it that faith does not need a key to ply? Can faith sometimes be the tear, the cry? Bonita Jewel visited India when she was 16 and stayed for nearly 12 years. Now residing in California with her husband and three children, she holds an MFA in Creative Writing. A freelance writer and editor for 13 years, Bonita’s writing has recently been published with upstreet magazine, Ekstasis and Dos Gatos Press. You can connect with her at bonitajewel.com.
Bonita's other work on Foreshadow: Heart to Heart (Poetry, September 2023)
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