These Days the Blues

 

These Days the Blues

(“And stretching out His hand toward His disciples, ‘Here are My mother and My brothers!’” Matthew 12:49)

These days the blues pursue me
just two steps behind my slower pace.
I’ve remanufactured time, an endless loop,
an arpeggio designed to keep me within soothing
distance of smiles I miss,
wine we’ve dispensed,
and arguments we’ve left to evaporate
once the sun makes its rounds again.

Once I wanted less pressure,
once I sought more leisure,
now I look down the driveway for
another soul, a dead ringer for
day trips on dewy hills.

Once I was impressed by counts
and recounts,
filled chairs and noise,
good reports about a preaching machine
now grounded without wings.

These days the pain recruits me
just behind my older face.
Please call me, my brother;
please ride up and remind me
why I once called you sister.
Oh mother, of father, oh family
who ate vegan spaghetti and bread.

Now I’m impressed by doubts
and dropouts,
question marks and silence,
good transports that carry my heart
on prayer and a wing.