The Moment You Banished

The Moment You Banished

(“They trample the heads of the poor into the dust of the earth, and they turn aside the claims of the oppressed.” Amos 2:7a)

When you turned away to follow the gleam of gold
and the sparkle of silver you left the dust behind
for anyone you called homeless in your prearranged language.
You build statues to your name;
you cast away the foreigner from your front door.
You think you’ve received commission from the gods
and your bank account is enough to make you believe.
You take the whole pie for yourself and sweep the crumbs
under the rug. You would keep the rain from falling on
the poor man’s field and hoard it for you own if you could.
They are impoverished by the way you feed on the
vintages you make sure they cannot afford. You
have turned up the music and hear nothing of their
cries that carry across the canyon you have created.
You don’t answer the phone when it rings for you;
you don’t open the door to the east wind blowing the
songs of the workers from the castaway fields. You
cannot hear their winter dirges for the frozen dreams
you have pierced with your penthouse palisades.

But there is one who hears, there is one who sees
every idol erected to your ego. You will find,
at the end of the day, how empty your idolatry
became
the moment you banished the oppressed from your
mind.

To Memorize Their Names

To Memorize Their Names

(“Whoever gives to the poor will never lack, but whoever shuts his eyes to their poverty will be cursed.” Proverbs 28:27)

After the doors closed, we
counted the coins
and divided them among
everyone assembled in the
backlit room. The odds were
less than even
that everyone received their full share.
We were nice to each other, but it was more
necessary that we remind ourselves there are
not races, no curses that keep us from poverty
when we need the food that will save our souls.

Even the Almighty cries for
the paucity that deprives a neighbor just
a door away from our prosperity.
I am another privileged one who figures
I’ve done good enough to deserve the amount
that has mounted up in my bank account.

After we drop off the canned goods, we expect
to be patted on the head like a good dog rescuing the
baby from the well. We didn’t even stay for dinner.
We didn’t even stay long enough to memorize their names.

Wide for Two

Wide for Two

(“God’s way is perfect. All the Lord’s promises prove true. He is a shield for all who look to him for protection.” Psalm 18:30)

Think there beside me, there are no strangers,
we are not alone. You are too sweet to die by
lying words. Hear truth, the two-edged sword of
bright hues and life.

This is your destiny that calls you, speaks your name so softly you
hear each syllable peal like the
morning chimes through fog.

You are created; love and power, and a thirst unquenched.
A satiated heart, filled with its own words and senses, never
discover the colossal passion of the
hunger that only cries,

“More, my Lord. And never let
my eyes
become accustomed to the hues You create
for my daily plate, the divine nourishment
of love.”

Though the world conspires to clothe you only
with cast-offs, you have the same brown overcoat
daddy and grand-dad wore. Swaddled in the
well-worn lining ancestral discoveries mingle
with future longings and hope takes fire

Lit by prophetic miles, wide for two, and long
enough for all.