Broken Royalty

Dear Queen,
I see you in your garden there
In your yard, in the back.
and hidden.
Where the chickens roam free
And the dirt brings you close
To the grief in your eyes.
Broken and bruised.
Battered and beat.
Still the crown stands.
Steadfast and tall.
the jewels shine brighter
Where the blood has been dried.
and rubbed.
And smudged.
And drips down off your brow
On dirtied, garden hands.
You’d give it all away
If your heart wasn’t so tender.
justice so vibrating,
Through your veins.
Through your hands.
If your neck didn’t still
stand above in the crowd
Amongst word and accusation.
Amongst failures.
Yes, Even yours.
I see you, Queen.
Tucked away and tending.
In the mud. In the dirt.
Where the chickens roam free.
Where the grief can be seen.
your voice gently cultivated.
your heart tended with care.
Still the crown stands.
Though she’s dirty and bruised.
Though broken and bloodied.
Those jewels shine brighter.
Your glory more stunning,
Because you are muddied.
Because you’ve been broken.
Because you still rise.
Because you still rise.
You. Still rise.

Grace Brindle is a leader birthed in the silent fires of the purity movement and the height of evangelical conferences and mission trips. In the Northwoods on the land of the Anishinaabe, Grace has attended, cared for, and witnessed the birthing of rich and deep stories.Never considering herself an artist but a firm believer that everyone is creative, Grace began the journey of writing a poem a day in 2021. With the mantra, “We can only go with others as far as we are willing to go ourselves,” she learned much about herself during her year of poetry. Grace attempts to resiliently hold creation in its poetic beauty at