Never Be a Day

Never Be a Day

(“You changed my mourning into dancing. You took off my funeral clothes and dressed me up in joy.” Psalm 30:11)

I have seen the pockets where you hide away your pain;
I know you’ve prayed for darkness to cry the day like pain.
You have wanted to dance again and feel guilty when you abstain.
You’ve wished you could drink an elixir to make you love again.

Every time you peek out from your hidden cave you’ve made,
every time you let the sunlight catch your eyes,
you hope and imagine it will be different, things will change this time.
But within days the gloom sets in again and you knew you shouldn’t
be surprised. You cannot even count on sleep to be your friend.

With me you can hide if you want. Or I will turn down the lights so
you can let your tears drop unseen. Or I will reach inside your
pockets and remove a stone or two. I would heal it all if I
could.
I would change the wounds backwards in time before the
first evil befell you. I would mend the seams where the
violence
caused your voice to cease its beautiful song.

If I could I would hold you forever; if you let me,
I would blow away every sore and scarred place you
hide so well. The days would shine again; your eyes
would take the lifeline and sparkle again.

So, when I ask if you are ok, you can share one of those
pocketed stones with me. There will never be a day
when
I will turn away from anything you show me.

Laughed at the Dream

Laughed at the Dream

(“You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers.” Psalm 30:11 [The Message])

I couldn’t stand at the back; they had put me in charge
so I waited until all the singing was done to begin the
morning lecture. But I was muddled, I was muggy, I was
unprepared, I was disarrayed. I wished I had stayed home
to protect my unsteady hands.

It was five minutes before twelve and my time was almost
gone. I had not even begun. I wasted eons wrestling with
technology I had carefully tested twice and more. The microphone
went silent, the images swarmed the screen. The words would
not come. The room had been full, but some stood and
began to leave. Long-term friends were sitting in the
front row and they began to follow the exiting few.
But she, the wife, urged him to stay and I finished my
time merely a minute late. I do not remember what I said and
few of the faces that left me unrecognized.

But old friends I hadn’t seen in decades waited for me
in the lobby just to shake my hand. Most others were out
the door quickly to their appointed reservations for brunch.

I went home winded. I was surprised at my disabilities that day.
But I put on music by Dylan, then listened to some Cohen. I wished
I had more Stevie Ray Vaughn to play. But as the day counted down
to evening the drapes on my heart were hopefully opened.

It was only a dream, I said. It was nothing new. I did a quick
review and realized I was probably right. The smile I had misplaced
found my feet moving like raindrops on the sidewalk.

So, I stepped outside into the fading day and laughed
at the dream
that previously would have made me cry.

A Package Arrived Today

A Package Arrived Today

A package arrived today winking at
my front door, a brown cardboard box,
fiber tape around the perimeter, my name,
my address,
my zip code. I forgot to open it.

While the sun shines my mood melts into
golden reflections that are obscured
by the winter rains. I still wish I could see
you
again.

The box was filled by human hands, there is
no doubt.
And yet, you have been gone so long, I hoped it
had been sent by angel mail, settling on my porch
with your voice, your laugh, even your tears inside.

And still the sun has not changed. I wrestle,
then reflect, then take a glass of chardonnay
standing erect between my pear and cherry trees
feeding me, shading me, telling me their secrets of
how many tongues have tasted their sweet inventory.
I passed a lemonade stand on my way home.

The sweat cooled my forehead, shadow and breeze;
the dogs followed lawnmowers across open fields and
I,
I hoped the box held something immaterial that would
permeate the losses of the years. I wonder

If the trees know more than they let on.
I wonder if the cherries can tell the difference
between the mouths old men living and young loves
too soon gone. And I taste one

Before I open the box, unwrap the plastic inside,
and, with the nectar still on my tongue,
hope to find the explanation within.