The Maps You Sent Us

The Maps You Sent Us

(“For You have been a stronghold for the helpless, a stronghold for the poor in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat; for the breath of the ruthless is like a rain storm against a wall.” Isaiah 25:4)

The maps you sent to us were useless,
horizontal across the glowing hills
(we were on our way to spy a super-nova)
and we needed a new place to breathe.

The instructions you left were bilingual,
and we had no translator
(we left those dead languages long ago)
we needed new super-novels to read.

My, didn’t it rain while we asked for directions,
and didn’t the heat burn us like toast,
and weren’t the voices we heard only reflections
of every dead-end word that catches in the throat.

While some tore the skin, we looked for a new way in
where welcome was spelled in every language and
the rain was warm enough for dancing.

While some insisted demons, we were ready for angels
and delighted when the sun drove the shadows
away. While you insisted your opponents were evil,
we woke the dreamers to rise and compose a new
anthem that clothes the poor from our wardrobes.

We will follow a new navigation, guidance from the
crafter of the stars. We will read the heart song of silence
that mutes our leaden insistence that detoured our
pilgrimage in the first place. The love we began with
will be our destined arrival. The last day shall be
the same as the first.

And we will feast on the bounty
of a boundless storehouse of grace.