Fizzled

Fizzled

Steven Peterson

When I was young, I broke my toys
when something fizzled in my brain.
I smart-talked back to bully boys,
inviting fizzle-fisted pain.

No wonder that I grew up flinched,
expecting fizzles every day.
But now that I am downward inched,
I sense a lifting underway.

Can God redeem a fizzled soul?
A sun-beamed cross stands on a hill.
And though I’ve fizzled pole to pole,
I stand before it, finally still.

---

Steven Peterson
Poet & Playwright

Steve's recent poems appear in Alabama Literary Review, America magazine, The Christian Century, Dappled Things, First Things, Light, North American Anglican, The Windhover, and elsewhere. Several of his poems are forthcoming in the anthology Taking Root in the Heart (Paraclete, 2023). His plays have been produced in theaters around the USA. Steve is currently a resident playwright at Chicago Dramatists. 

Photography by Allec Gomes