I wrote this poem when I heard of a newlywed waiting for her husband after the bridge collapsed.
O God, please let him be unconscious,
With his wallet lost, unknown
In some draped cubicle, with nurses
Near, and scrolling through his phone.
You never stayed so late. O Jesus,
I would give this house, and weep
With joy to know he stayed at
Work, until he fell asleep.
It’s midnight. I’m afraid to call, or
Even look too closely at the cars
Above the water, with the broken
Windows, glimpsed between the twisted bars.
I sleep. And you are there, the current
Of the Mississippi in your hair,
Caressed, so still, so still, so breathless,
Love, as when last night I touched you there.
I wake to hear the doorbell ringing.
It is two A. M. And through the hues
Of porch-light, Yes! No matter
What. My pastor always brings good news.
(Read the article that John Piper wrote in response to the tragedy, "Putting My Daughter to Bed Two Hours After the Bridge Collapsed.")