The Floor Was Slanted

The Floor Was Slanted

(“…being diligent to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” Ephesians 4:3)

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was inclined like a piedmont and we had not
quite reached the top.

We were a small band, travelers in the night, roaming in search
for the moments we had lost waiting in the cities.

We knew each other only by reputation then, now we knew each
other by name. We heard stories and gossip then, now we saved our breath
for chatter along the trail.

We were neither success nor failure, we were noticed and sometimes invisible;
clerks, nurses, nuns and writers of verse. We were teachers who had learned
far too much.

Passing a stream, we held the water in our hands. Passing a stream,
we knelt with each other, our knees buried in the sand. Passing a stream,
we waited and appeased our thirst thoroughly watching the sun between
the black branches of overhanging trees.

Some sang, some whispered, some laughed, some blistered in the afternoon sun;
some nurtured, some led, some murmured, some fled their past
along with the rest of us.

But our faces all looked ahead, our feet at last free of concrete and steel,
with no cross streets or street lights, we happily accepted the pain
that accompanies pilgrimage and took our turns at both sorrow and joy.

The second we saw the roofline pointed toward heaven, the
second we noticed the double glass doors with reserved parking out front,
the second we saw the well-suited smiler handing out greetings,
the second we stepped toward the sloping porch and saw the
benches for sitting in the sun

Was the second we discovered our Jerusalem, our Mecca,
our Zion, our Cathedral and we entered quickly to find a
permanent home.

The second the door closed behind us we noticed
the floor was slanted and we soon began to congregate
where the building demanded we go.

The corners were filled with people like us
who argued over the best view from the places up front.