For the Next Sky

For the Next Sky

(“And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.” 2 Corinthians 9:8)

How much money; the papers folded and tucked
in a wad, the gold stacked neatly, silver faced discreetly
out of sight of the needy.

How much hunger; the faces wrinkled and crisp
in the sun, the child faced empty, mother placed twenty
like eighty and minus the next harvest’s seed.

One tribe needs water, our taps run like background noise.
One clan freezes blue, our stoves burn red and yellow 80.

One friend stronger than champions of construction,
a contractor and genius, she pulls down the sky to
replace it with dreams and sweat no peer could conceive.

Days with hammers, nights with drills, paint the walls
where they intersect tomorrow’s horizon. Her pets,
always underfoot, never hindered the work, the magnet
of her perpetual motion. I wielded tools, her and I,
twice or once, and I comprehended her hand and brain work.

Gave, her time, her tools; offered her good, her smiles;
never interpreted more that spoken, or heard more than fine.
Little pay, but always bounty, her joy was days, fellows
and banter.

Until exploding, the shock tore the hearing from her brain,
the balance from the train of thought that always connected
foundation to flooring, roofing to ceiling and worse. Left
aloof on the northern plains, her friends escaped invisible
while she recovered alone.

How much money; folded and saved
in a drawer, the amount tallied, the digits carried over
for a rainy day.

How much hunger; the friend anxious and only
in the shadows, she faced another empty, her tears still empty.

But one with a rainy-day fund decided (graceful and provided)
there is not a better return on investment than hearing the pulse
of a lonely friend slow, the breathing low, and the words
having swallowed the bitter pill well, now piecing the puzzle
at least for the next sky until now.