To See Invisibility

 To See Invisibility

(“The one who says he is in the Light and yet hates his brother or sister is in the darkness until now.” 1 John 2:9)

When I was a child I thought
invisibility was the greatest super
power.

I could egg friends’ houses unseen,
tickle the girl on the playground,
tackle the guy with the ball out of nowhere.
Shenanigans would abound without
having to sneak around.

But today I would rather
see
the invisible. I would see your
song long before I heard the melody.
I could see the scars on your soul
that you never show
and see the truth in them,
the truth only you know.
And I would sit with you in silence; we would
see each other’s words.

I would watch the sky
and see every ray of sunlight;
waves dancing in unnamed colors,
particles spinning under and over
every wonder. A leaf, a tree, a cloud, a mountain,
a butterfly, a bunny, would
all be
one
in the spectrum of invisibility.

I would look at the footprints of my
ancestors and see
their muscled pain, left there unsigned,
a cairn,
a guide, to bind all yesterday-tomorrow
in a single unseeable point of time.

I could see the brain waves of the hummingbird;
metallic red,
and three.
Dancing above and beyond the trees and me.
Like the Aurora Borealis their instinctive thoughts would
light up my eyes.

I would not be surprised to see
that you, so distant in time and geography,
have wished the same thing too;
to see the unseeable soul and
love it like your own.

My Body Hates Me

 

My Body Hates Me

(“Then Esau took his wives, his sons, his daughters…and he moved to a land some distance from his brother Jacob.” Genesis 36:6)

Tell me what it is you want me to choose; what is the payoff,
I am so confused.
It feels like a cartoon convention that might have
turned into a disaster if not for the intervention of bodies in the sun
making short work of a huge backyard chore left undone.
By the end of the day the brush pile had been chipped and sent
over the hill.

I should be grateful; more than I guessed helped with the
monumental task.
Instead I hated my life even more. My body
refuses to do what it should. The pain wraps my face
as I try to set a reasonable pace. The rented machinery
roars in my ears and I do not want to appear useless
as I take more breaks than anyone.

My body is no longer my friend. My body hates me.
Weekends once spent on the tennis court are
now spent in pain on the couch.

I feel guilty, I feel ashamed while this
ungodly pain
keeps me from seeing anything through.
I cannot work outdoors four hours with my friends,
and a single song takes me months to record.

Before the end of the day, I simply quit.
I went inside, drank cold water and tried to sleep.
I hate my body, useless on the couch. Who knows,
maybe I fake all this pain to get out of the hard stuff.
The depression creeps in like a fog thick as pudding.

And then the work is done. I face everyone. They know
I quit. Their eyes are on me, they care for me, but I feel
I must
plead guilty
for not holding up my end. I live as an invalid,
and I am not an invalid.

People are kind, some half my age,
spent half a day tackling a monstrous chore. My brain
knows more than my body will admit. I was blessed today,
but my tears rain on well into the evening; my ego took a hit. Yes,
I suppose that explains it.

So, help me make up my mind; is there a warm front to
dry my idiot tears? I am blessed, I am cursed; the worst
and the best
are ever at my doorstep. The pain has made my body
the enemy. But the friends, the family are
my remedy.

Welcome

Welcome

(“The person who says that he is in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness.” 1 John 2:9)

Welcome to the party, come inside, find your place along the wall,
or in a chair, single or dual.

Did you ride well, or walk, did the rain drip
down your back, and were you able to find a plus 1,
is he parking the car, or she, or preceded you pulling some
pate de foie gras from the platter with pointy bread or salad.

Welcome to my home, wipe your feet, leave the mud outside,
never mind the dog’s nails, the cat’s hair, the cockatiel’s harsh songs,
oh my, they are all so talented.

You don’t like dog breath on your face, allergic to cats, don’t mind birds
but would I unplug the music that sounds so messy accompanying Debussy.
You agree about their talents, though, am I right, and have not mispronounced
your name or stumbled upon your toe; tell me.

Welcome to the patio, inhale the air, let the manicured carpet tickle your feet,
mosquitoes and horseflies are mostly gone now, electrically dismissed by
blue sparks, the marigolds and tea tree oil pick up the slack, you’ll
mostly be left alone, except of course,

For the dog and the cat.

Oh, this is your plus one, and your name, sir, and your occupation, and
what libation would you desire, you would rather drink water, though
not entirely unheard of, bottled or tap, and lastly, before I forget, you
were told, or read, or overhead at the latest meeting, that we are gathered tonight
to make our school safer for the little apples of our eyes.

These three are ours, and you have two, boy and girl, we must call the others
and begin our brief consultation, come, gather around, a circle will do, find your
place and we begin:

“Our Father in heaven, we have full hearts from Your outpouring of grace.
We depend upon Your mercy, and call upon Your wisdom. See how we,
singles and marrieds, widows and divorced, have come in Your love to
meet this wonderful night. Guide us, be with us, let Jesus’ name be above
every other name, Amen.”

Murmurs, and a few throats cleared, feet scuffed and shuffled on the concrete
patio floor.

Welcome to our meeting, and, uhm, we, well, we have a question, have you
been praying, we have a question, and a devilish problem. Have you heard,
and how will you answer, we have, in our own high school

A teacher, a lesbian,

And another, a witch.

Welcome to God’s mission: suggestions on how to rid our school of them.