There wasn’t a set time or place
no way to predict, could have been day or night
when I found myself, in the grip of grace.
The engine got louder, something was off base
he was cutting a corner, it didn’t sound right
there wasn’t a set time or place
Under the weight of the wheels, I felt myself brace
but in my weakness, I relied on His might
as I found myself, in the grip of grace
I can still remember the lifeguard’s face
I told him, “I’m pregnant!”; I forgave his slight
(there wasn’t a better time or place)
I asked for his help with my particular case
and he listened to me, there wasn’t a fight
then I surrendered myself, to the grip of grace
He helped me sit up, as the ambulance raced
“the Lord is my shepherd,” I began to recite
There isn’t a set time or place
To find yourself, in the grip of grace.
My lifeguard stand.
This poem is in drafts right now, as I am still working on it. I do appreciate constructive feedback on it. I am hoping that you will also read my post This Is What I Came To Write, which explains the process I am going through in writing a series of poems about an accident I had fifteen years ago.
This poem explores one aspect of that experience: before I was run over I was lying on the sand, on my towel, reading a book, In the Grip of Grace, by Max Lucado. In fact, the lifeguard ran over me and the book, leaving it bent and concave. It was a library book, and a few weeks later I returned it to the library in that state. I kind of wish I had kept that one, and given them a brand new copy instead.
This is a villanelle, which according to Wikipedia, “consists of five stanzas of three lines (tercets) followed by a single stanza of four lines (a quatrain) for a total of nineteen lines.” One very famous villanelle is Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night.”