A Southern Breeze

A Southern Breeze

(“They will reach Jerusalem with gladness, singing and shouting for joy. They will be happy forever, forever free from sorrow and grief.” Isaiah 35:10)

So far from home we didn’t recognize the language
echoing around us. Similar, but unknown, it cast its
sounds like the frogs on the bogs near the end of the day.
But when they sang, we awoke. When they spoke in
stories that seemed to be repeated for the purpose reminding
themselves that once they were one, now they are one,
and will always be one. Perhaps they shared battle stories,
or romances around the campfire. All we knew is
we were on our way home
and hoped they would send us on our way
without a map to our name.

We had left years before, fleeing the vagaries of
cold edicts from foreign lands. We wailed and took
our babies with us to escape the fire by night that
no longer guided our steps. We ran until the end of
the city was a day behind us and carried the children
for days until we had no recognition of the land before us.
We took note of the eastern sky each morning as we
wandered like sheep without a shepherd. We escaped
like embers from a fire stoked by the wind.

But the day dawned when spirit blew us back the
way we came. We slowly turned, a steamship in the sea,
and made our way home hoping nothing had defaced
our memories. We had held them in our minds for so long
we hoped to find them unstained from the years we were gone.
But joy overtook us, a southern breeze that warmed the day,
and we danced back home like young elks along the river’s edge.

Letters Flying Everywhere

Letters Flying Everywhere

(“You keep completely safe the people who maintain their faith, for they trust in you.” Isaiah 36:3)

Days before the latest dawn
the thunderstorms snuck in under the blue.
They left the sky cleaned and calm.
We could breathe again, unsullied by the
rain that washed the dread away. The breeze
was easy.

There were echoes of war, distant booms of
violence that crowded those who were listening.
We heard what we had never heard. We begged
for streets free from combat boots and full of
summer sandals shopping for new colors to wear.

I want to write with words wrapped around bombs
exploding purposefully with letters flying everywhere.
I want a conflagration of vowels spinning between the
pages and consonants so crisp they smell of burnt bacon.

After that I’ll write about trees and flowers again,
about bees and buzzes, about sunlight and breezes.
I find my mind so occupied like an overpour at the bar,
that I barely can mutter intelligent sentences.

But look around me and scout the extravagant lyrics
unconnected to the chorus or bridge. Please excuse the mess;
I was just given the arrangement a day ago and my fingers
haven’t traced their melody long enough to make sense.
But once I get my cadence down, once I memorize the breaks,
you’ll be able to dance right up to the final coda and laugh
that the night was over so soon.

Until then, we need words that ignite over night skies to
keep us in line. We need more rhymes to teach us the
daily grind for peace we never knew we would fight.