On the Patio

On the Patio

(“Do not neglect doing good and sharing, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.” Hebrews 13:16)

Afterwards we ran inside to escape the rain.
But until then we had been breaking bread on the
patio surrounded by palm trees and bougainvillea.
The music was loud, our feet were tapping the concrete floor,
and the children hopped like sugary frogs.
Nearly the entire neighborhood was there, invited
on a whim. The grills were hissing, the dogs were
growling playfully waiting for every morsel
intentionally dropped their direction.
We ignored social graces and didn’t set places
based on early reservations. We
sat where we wanted,
stood and chatted like geese populating a mown field.

The sun had warmed the day, pushed the clouds away until
midafternoon. We laughed at silly jokes, some we’d told
since childhood.
No one cared except the stray teenager who heard and
rolled his eyes and then told it to his cadre of bros.
The cats, domestic and feral, soaked in the sun,
stretched out like tablecloths on the warming driveway.
No one talked of God, or angels, or sanity, or delusions.
We didn’t test the temperature of faith or check the boxes
of doctrinal hoaxes. We had no need of talk, no requirements
ticked of on ballots. It was lately the place where
names were memorized and acceptance ubiquitous.
Men remade amends, women healed the wounded,
children built memories out of legos and no one was
left out in the cold.

And then the deluge, then the downpour, then the dash
for irony that what started outside with more room than
we ever needed was
forced inside where we stood face to face, shoulder
to
shoulder
and nothing changed. Everyone sang. We ate and
then ate again.