Sometimes Hidden

 

Sometimes Hidden

(“Weren’t our hearts glowing while he was with us on the road, and when he made the scriptures so plain to us?” Luke 24:32 [J.B. Phillips])

I was thinking about yesterday when
I spent the day on the couch,
my head in a vise,
the sun fully risen,
the questions aligned without reasons,
the town below alive,
the sleep and dreams between
the hammers that played my head like
steel drums. I would do things on a whim,
but all my big ideas are locked in
a makeshift cavern waiting for reunion.

I was walking around today when
I saw the clouds kiss the hills above the river
like lovers who only want some privacy.
Chilly for mid-July, I wore faded jeans instead
of my summer shorts. I still saw questions
buzzing like gnats. I still shivered (not from
cold, but from mastering the art of dreading
the day.)
Some insist I pray in this hollow,
others that I read more emotionless cookie
fortunes and staple them to my face.
Some simply erase me. Memories are as fickle
as clouds hugging hills and dancing away.

I started writing today and reflected on
fire.

Who is this sits with me in my brokenness?

One who breaks bread in a stranger’s house and
leaves without addressing a single query. One who,
like hills, like clouds, like sun, like quasars,
is sometimes hidden in the most ordinary
things.