I want my poems to reflect Hope.  The Hope that only Christ can give.

I don’t know how to do this.  I am intimidated by this.  I am afraid of being another gong, banging its bad art into the world with Christ’s name attached to it.

So I am attempting a series of poems that strive to articulate what I felt Jesus saying to me during the darkest days of my life.  Maybe, through these, I can talk authentically about what I now center my life on, that is, the redemptive power of Jesus Christ to transform us and free us.


The unborn grows and I cannot hide it.
I’ve given it a name, Zloděj, the word
for thief in my ancestor’s tongue. My tongue
knows only the name; my mind knows only
regret sung again, again. Everyone
is watching. Even the un-eyed faces
of buildings, park benches, trees. The sky, too,
scant clouds never blocking a garish sun,
birds forming an ellipse at the end
of the atmosphere’s long dirge. How long?
I eat from dumpsters and sleep under a worn
auspice of fear. Guilt pushes hard against
the small of my back. Night comes, goes and brings
nothing, not even darkness to hide me.


There is no such thing as hiding. Nor guilt. I am both
the Light that scatters darkness and the Sudden Relief.

About Amy Woschek Schmidt

little moon hoping to reflect the Light. writer of stories. mama to sparrow. wife to schmidty. wholy redeemed by the Holy One, Jesus Christ.
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