There Is Enough for Breakfast

There Is Enough for Breakfast

(“These six cities will be safe places for the people of Israel and for the stranger and for the one who visits them.” Numbers 34:15a)

Come inside, you don’t need to run anymore.
Wipe the dust from your feet,
sit in the rocking chair on the porch,
have some wine. Let your eyes shine again
with hope
that has nothing left to hide.

I know you don’t understand,
It flies well over my head too.
But this house,
these occupants,
this rectangular piece of lawn
and mud and
douglas firs and
hummingbirds;
they do not strictly belong to me.

Did you steal? I don’t wanna know.
Did you lose your identity when
the sheriff plastered your face on
posters and envelopes sent in the mail?
It may be too early to tell,
and there may be more losses ahead;
but here and now there is safety.
Here and now there is music, (you
pick the playlist). Herer and now
there are no magistrates or ministers
dropping the gavel like a boulder on your head.

You can tell the whole story; you can sit in silence.
I am not a warden. I have a rap sheet too.
But here there is no violence, no words understood
too clearly to miss their mark. (Yes, it surprises me as well
when the waggled fingers exclaim they never meant to say
anything unkind-only-truthful.)

There is fruit here to be picked: apples are a bit late,
our pears are sparse, and the blackberries believe the
yard belongs to them. But there is enough for breakfast;
oatmeal or cream of wheat? And, since we knew you were
coming
there are a dozen donuts on the kitchen counter.

Let us be your refuge, let us be your sanctuary,
let us take the wrap for the naysaying nation
that can’t wait to send you to face the charges
you never denied. Let us be the child’s fort
that only allows friends inside.

Come now, to the table. Chili is on,
the wine is poured, and we may laugh at how
migrants like us ever found a place
so safe
to stay.

Love is Enough

 Love is Enough

(“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” John 13:34)

Love is enough,
was always enough,
will ever be enough,
and yet we stuff the heads of congregants
full of lead-weight conspiracies
so all they will see
is a world so dark something needs to be destroyed.

Love is ageless,
was always ageless,
will ever be ageless,
and yet a certain few, who will remain nameless,
are convinced we’ve turned the corner into everlasting
dark
ness.
Flash-fire weapons are the only solution.
Forgetting that the ammunition and collateral damage have
caused the pollution
that keeps us from sitting in the sun.

Love is divine,
was always divine,
will ever be divine,
and still we insist on justifying more hatred toward
completed souls whose love we do not understand.
We still insist on strangling the message from women
whose prophetic words open the world wide to seditious
hope, (the million dollar men broadcasting their rants against sin
only see the prophets as pernicious heretics who, no longer burned,
are shunned with fire and fury.)

Love is costly,
was always costly,
will every be costly,
and yet we kick the homeless out of our towns,
make them find shelter in locked sheds when the snow flies.
And we put our money into new chairs and chandeliers,
a fancy sign and then resign when the pay does not match
our preferred lifestyle.

Love is enough,
was always enough,
will ever be enough.
Let’s smooth the rough edges that
make the meek cower and the brave
go elsewhere to find
the kind of love
that suffers on crosses,
never draws lines,
but always draws the circle wider for
all humanity to enter.
Love is always front and center.

I Slowed Down Enough

 

I Slowed Down Enough

I slowed enough for you to catch me,
I slowed down to a crawl,
I slowed enough for you to find me,
I slowed to no movement at all.

I radioed ahead that I was coming,
I radioed so you would show,
I radioed ahead while I was driving,
I radioed so you would know.

But you kept up your breakneck pace,
You kept up your distractions,
But you kept up your blinded race,
You kept up your hollow fractions.

I stood in the road far too long,
I stood across from you,
I stood in the road with my old coat on,
I stood right in front of you.

I slowed down once I had hit town,
I slowed down at this address,
I slowed down so I could be found,
I slowed down to emptiness.

But you would only blaze past me,
You would ignore my telegrams,
But you would not simply replace me,
You would treat me like I was banned.

I slowed down enough for you to welcome
me home.

 

Do Not Distract Me

 

Do Not Distract Me

(“Do not turn to idols or make gods of cast metal for yourselves; I am the Lord your God. Leviticus 19:4)

Somewhere in the distant past a nearby star
exploded to give the universe cosmic relief,
and left these rocks strewn along the river
sunning on the banks beneath my feet.

The flat ones are good for skipping,
I’ve practiced since I was a kid
and made them jump twelve times or more
before I dove in for a swim.

Others built cairns, starting with the larger ones,
balancing one course and then the next. A minaret in
miniature, a monument, an altar.
I do not know who laid these so precisely,
hunting each stone to complete the work.

I confess I have not built one; but found, they
silence me. Patience and quiet along the river,
beside the trail,
they do not speak, but help me hear
the thankful coolness of the air.

There are barely enough to make a difference,
yet we still keep pouring our emotions into
molten crucibles manufactured in a culture of hate.
Bronze or stonewall, our gilded images
prove nothing other than contempt for those
who have not squared themselves within our foursquare
temples.

I hope I can say, or will say someday, “I am addicted to
no one.” I hope you can tell, or will see someday, I have
put no one inside a cage. Do not distract me with your
false displays
of deity and spirituality.

No, I will stack my stones on the river, for,
I did not stumble this time; I had not fallen.
I was worn and I was weeping, I was sore, and
sleeping escaped my mind torn between
off-the-shelf-gods I thought I knew
and the silent one who was more elusive.

I may visit the river today, or next week.
I pray there are stones enough to pray my love in layers
to the God who speaks louder than
printed lines and stars torn asunder.
You, distant and so near to me, have
become to me the God of mercy,
the God of infinite wonder.