Freedom Lives in the Fence Slats

 

Freedom Lives in the Fence Slats

(“So if the son sets you free, you will be really free.” John 8:36)

Today all I hoped for was meaning
alongside my mistaken humanity.
I barely can proofread my own work,
let alone edit soft sell and
hardheaded opinions boiling over
on the page.

And yet,
words I meant as love
have squeezed some wounds I did
not anticipate. The rain fell like
a sandstorm instead.

Here I am, lonely again,
wishing words were more transparent.
But some dots and commas tripped
a person up again
and I must remove them before
the meaning is lost forever.

Freedom lives in the fence slats
that let us see the garden next door
cultivated by spotted hands breathing
the roses.

Freedom lives in the offenses
dropped like guns turned into
garden rakes. The hands dropped loosely
to the side, we advance only in
surrender and silence.

We hope that our folly will
be only a printer’s error in this
loose-leaf attempt at

Getting through the day.