Life – Page 11 – A Thread You Follow

Finish to Begin

My knowledge extends only to what I know.
I know upon finishing this poem I will
get up from my desk, turn off the lamp
and see the growing light of the greater light
spreading across the porch making the things
of this world distinct.  Later, I will step out into
that light satisfied that the structures of the world
are in place to make it go around one more day,
or at least for the time it takes me to drive to work,
place the lunch I made the previous night 
on the break room counter and sit down at my desk.
But first I know I will finish this poem.

…a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together…” – Ecclesiastes 3:5

God of stone, rock, gravel and of shiny crystals,
dancing before us in form and structure billions of years old,
knowing the life of an ancient crustacean kept
between layers of limestone wrapped like a gift.
How can we throw one pebble of our experience away
knowing somewhere someone else will pick it up,
turn it over and, perhaps, skip us across another lake?
Weigh us down.  Put a few stones in our pockets,
not so we drown in the waters of life, but so we
feel the weight of things together and apart.
Amen.

Duplex Dream

I said, "Last night I dreamed of living 
in the lower level of a duplex."

She said, "Surely it was a nightmare
knowing the space where you lived
when I first met you."

I said, "Though my stay ended so lovely.  
You riding in on your beautiful stallion 
to save me."

She laughed.  "I remember calling out
for you to let down your hair so I could
pull you up."

I laughed too and added, "And here 
I had just taken the clippers to my hair."

She said, "And thus began our long
tradition of making do with what
the other has given to us."

Shoes

I have changed residences once again
     though the front porch I sit on remains the same. 

The play of the sunlight and of the maple tree leaves
     dapples the ground at my feet and I think of you.  

I am eating blueberries, one at a time, careful to not
     get the tiny seeds caught between my teeth,

the way yesterday’s problems tend to tuck
     themselves between the floorboards of my living space,

as if taking a nap will make them fresh for the journeys 
ahead; a trip to the grocery store, the gas station, 

to the place selling shiny electronics which
     eat up whole paychecks in one bite and to the shoe store.  

I like shoes.  And, if my small pocketbook would
     allow me, I would wear a different pair every day

And walk before you.

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them. – Mark 16:8

Creator God,
shaper of fear and amazement,
empty the tombs before us once again
for we stroll towards death,
unamazed and fearless.
Amen.

Starting Point

The place where I started can be found
among chewed pencil stubs marking the moment

     between moments marked by pencil scribbles
     noting the time when boring entered my lexicon.

I first said boring the time when I was born,
apologetically to my mother as she screamed.

     I have since apologized to my mother
     for all the times when I made her cry.

Secular folks are not the only ones to cry,
begging for a sign that reads, Smile, Sinner.

     There are signs smiling all across this Land
     around which we circle seeking our home.

Sometimes going around in circles
I never find the place where I started.

glass jars

loneliness speaks 
to loneliness 
unable 
to move open 
the curtains 
that hands 
so carefully 
closed 
the night 
before
to remove 
the light
from outside
that spoke
of a quality
of abundance 
found 
in glass jars
holding
small treasures

Saturday Morning

The girls hold 
a breakfast picnic 
of chocolate chip muffins
and orange juice
on the sidewalk,
recently covered
with chalk rainbows,
stars, suns,
flowers and creatures
which mirror
the peace
of a summer's
Saturday morning.

Today’s reading includes life’s most difficult verses.

The Golden Rule presents itself first followed 
by all those things, yes, things, that create human division
between sects and castes and classes and circles.

Discourses on inequality and the tricks played by those 
who attempt to make us believe in the banality of wealth
divert those already ignorant of Divine ways.

Everyone searches for their hidden motives of sacrifice
preparing for a moving day to Easy Street which never
arrives on individual demand.

Legends fall into trouble once again barely able to keep
us awake through the drip of words leaking from books
read in one sitting of possibility madness.

Peaceful creation waits for the hubbub to waste away
into convention and tradition before appearing and  
glowing like the sliver of the month's new moon.

To Thrive

I said, "I spent the day upstairs
practicing the art of pure escapism
from life's leftovers."

She said, "A noble thing to do when
many spend so much time making
their selves the center of the universe."

I asked, "Do you think it is because
stories of wonder never received 
encouragement in each family of origin?"

She answered, "Or, maybe there was no
tree of life living in the middle of abandoned
gardens behind their houses."

I said, "As they say, Life requires mercy 
not sacrifice, in order for the self
and others to thrive."

She added, "Nothing like encouraging
a bit of anthropological thinking to 
de-center us from ourselves."