Violets of Joy

 
Violets of Joy

(“And they came to Jesus and saw the demon-possessed man, the one who had had the legion, sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, and they were afraid.” Mark 5:15)

Once accustomed to the madness that fights
mongrels in the cemetery,
we pass the fences without fear,
walk by at night. It is customary
to tell the children there is no haunting there.
Just an old man with drool in his beard and
toes shaped like rocks from scraping against
the headstones.

But watch the violets of joy emerge from
deep within the healed soul,
hear the voice once screeching like iron
now
quieted as a weaned child
and we have no answer

But to fear what we do not know.

Let the day come easy now,
let the morning open like drops of sunlight,
let the streams whisper background calm.
Let the neighbors stop in wonder
and offer ears to hear the new song
sung from an old man’s throat that
makes the blue jays gather. The melody is
childlike,
the lyric repeatable. Free is a word
that even the townspeople

Need to learn.