When We Emptied Our Pantry

When We Emptied Our Pantry

(“And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds.” Hebrews 10:24)

Now that I think of it, we should have white-washed
the entire edifice before the strangers came to play.
The shadows would be silhouettes in the late afternoon sun.
We poured milk for the lime-faced children who asked for
nothing at all.
They deserved our attention, they reserved their laughter
for the moment we appeared.
We shared cookies newly baked for the skinny-faced children
who squealed for it all.
A lot of us questioned why,
a majority assumed we were required to distribute
the goods we had in store. But some of us wished
there was more that we could do for the baby-faced
children who shrunk silently around the corner.
It is the height of embarrassment to admit there are
no baked goods back at home.
I cannot describe our motivation,
we had not thought it all through,
we were only daylight decorations,
we thought it came out of the blue.
But the children played brighter, roses on
their cheeks, chocolate chips melted in their hands.

We decided to travel there again,
to memorize their names,
to baptize their happy eyes,
to bring sandwiches of peanut butter,
and instruct them silently to fly.

And yet we sprouted wings once our feet
hit the asphalt,
we were heavier too, weightier than
our many words we displayed uncarefully.
And all we wanted was to get lost among the
throng of the needy, and have enough even
when we, unready, emptied our pantry
uncarefully.

Coffee, Apologies, and Shalom

Coffee, Apologies, and Shalom

(“Rest once more, my soul, for the Lord has vindicated you.” Psalm 116:7)

Pressed inside the corner, kneeling beneath the latch,
his heart ran faster than his frightened thoughts.
He was all alone and that is what he feared;
no one’s eyes for reassurance, no one’s ears to hear his pain.
He did not live on an island, but if felt that way.
He inhaled the foggy air and felt the drizzling mist
slowly wetting his t-shirt and jeans.
He would not need to change them, the air would
dry them on his lengthy stroll. He was walking,
cross-country,
home.

But even there the solitary day cinched his throat,
made his chest feel heavy, his feet weighted with lead.
Do you know how long it takes for
scars to heal while you sit alone waiting for the
ideas to form. He fancied himself an artist,
a sculptor of words. But the pages, always emptied,
demanded he scrape the edges of his soul with a
spatula to find just enough words to share it halfway with you.

Let’s go find him, I’m sure he is home.
Let’s bring him coffee, apologies and shalom.
Let’s sing his words back to him, let’s play
the music his soul absorbs.
Let’s get out his old records, I think he’ll
like the swing bands or some funk.
Let’s let ourselves in before he invites us,
let’s leave only after the last song is played.

He sat in the corner, his favorite recliner,
and slowly allowed the light to coax his verses.
He had always feared unannounced visits,
and was stuck for words. But this time he
was ready,
and he could not put his finger on why;
but this time he was open,
and he laughed in dotted lines across the room.
He laughed because ancient times are not nearly as old
as he assumed.