Sometimes a Note

 Sometimes a Note

(“Provide her with anything she may need, because she has provided help to many people, including me.” Romans 16:2b)

Sometimes it was a note on the windshield
one winter day that froze the ink and paper to the glass.
Sometimes it was the merest glance,
or a song shared with lyrics you both had memorized.
Sometimes it was silence when pain
shouted too loudly to overcome. 

I ache when I see others
who brag about their latest silkscreen
shirt:
“Let’s Go Brandon”
thinly coded to mean
“Fuck You Biden”,
and then teaches littles about the Bible
on weekday nights. 

No one recorded the phone calls
or archived the memos
but each word was an invitation to
relax and create space
for gnarled feet limping from the journey.
Sometimes it was dinner,
sometimes beer and wine,
sometimes a movie,
but always time, always
time. 

I ache when I hear others
who silence the voices
(and thus the heartache)
of the traumatized who cannot enter
the buildings of american worship because
the triggers are everywhere. You learn
who you can tell your stories to. 

Some homes were heated with wood,
some were trailers dangerously cold,
some were nomads, others sojourned longer.
They entered the friendships like doors to a cathedral
and breathed the air so ancient that you knew the origin
of every word. No one took anything for granted,
but most gave more than they had.