I Have a Few Leftovers

I Have a Few Leftovers

(“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” Luke 6:20)

Come let us sit together, it is nearly lunchtime.
I have a few leftovers; your choice, ham or tacos.
I’ll pour the wine if you will simply grace me with
your time.

It’s the stretch of the year when the sun awakens the sleeping earth,
when the clouds part for an hour at a time
pulling back the curtains of playful daylight.

My deck is in the sunshine now,
50 degrees feels like 70.
My conversations are softer now,
words come and go like the stellar jays
that light on the fence inspecting our faces
and the moss on the walnut tree.

I am too rich, I know I am.
And I have too much to carry.
I do not believe in poverty,
but I believe in you and the hidden
gems underneath your voice.

You should be hosting me, for you
possess
more than my easy confessions.
But today, let me pretend to be poor.
(Though tomorrow I will turn up the heat again.)

Sometimes I see as through the darkest mirror,
sometimes I see nearly well.
Today I want to hear how
sounds of weighty compassion,
the pipe organs of pain,
lifted you like hymns on a high
Holy Day.

I’ll grab the refried beans, or the horseradish
for the ham. Come sit with me and
remind me who I am.