Like The Friend Who Slows Down

 Like The Friend Who Slows Down

(“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you. I will take away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26)

I sleep because it is the
only escape
from the relentless hammer-on-anvil
in my head.

I crave attention,
not like a toddler or
narcissist,
but like a neighbor who longs for
the voice of a friend that extends
beyond words. A touch on the back
of the hand
would be enough.

My tears are the mud puddles left by
torrents of rain,
my breath is the only sound my body knows.
I did not avoid you because I disliked you;
I’m stuck in this corral of pain.

If you know me, you’ve seen me
change my mind
over and over again. Topics become
clearer, doctrines murkier, and people the
center of truth I’ve desired.
But my heart, or its orientation,
is unchanged. My spirit has always wanted
a home. A log cabin with a fireplace
and chili on the stove.

My spirit has always wanted to
let you stay rent-free. To hear your children
play in the background. To hear the
mustang you drove, or the
honda 450 we rode into the coastal hills
summers ago.
To hear from someone who knows,
like the friend who slows down
every time they see you.

Today my tears are more like
blood lost
through the ache of waiting and
living too far behind me. I do
not
want to live in this now where
the pain is a broken record that
sucks my attention from

Every tender love I’ve known.
Even your own, dear friend,
sweet son, loving daughter,
and,
Christ, (how I hate to admit it)
feels cold and I wish this long
winter of spikes and icicles would end
in the agnostic revelry of Spring.

Restore my heart that is weary, for
the waiting has me writing pain
where the beauty once began.