Unsnapped

Unsnapped

(“To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly dressed and buffeted and homeless.” 1 Corinthians 4:11)

I became unsnapped from everything that
held me tightly,
untethered from the orbits that explained everything.
The strings of lights hung from the eaves,
the deer wandered through the yard. I was
learning to walk, to explore, to live like a
vagabond, a drifter, a nomad. We were better
at being ragamuffins than royals, so we pulled
up an old folding chair and wondered what the singing
was about.
We were enriched in our poverty,
homed in our wandering, healed with balms
of lowly scents from the muddled petals from
flowers that grew in the forest.

The truth is, I always feared being poor.
And I missed the beloved’s smile that looked on
my paucity as a gift. What should I give away
to know your love deeper than I have before?

Once again, I hold onto the things that have escaped my grasp,
the memories that were felt so deeply that they
color my moods like finger-painting.  It is too late
to learn to play a new instrument or think about
buying one. I should play even if I play alone,
leaving the sound to encase the walls of my sitting,
to gently adorn angels I imagine live between the
strings of my mandolin.

I unzipped myself from velcro attachments and
found, though poorer, my days were fuller than I knew,