The Retaining Wall
(“Everyone who hears these words of mine
and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on bedrock.” Matthew
7:24)
Sluggish as an Autumn morning, I climb to
the nearest hill to maintain some masquerade of
control. When life pulls away ahead of me,
when I roll the dice on the universe,
I lose control and cannot predict
how they will fall. I cannot pretend
that suffering is the ache of needing a period
at the end of every day.
I saw someone driving a truck the same model
of my best friend who died over a year ago.
The man inside looked like him and I pleaded
that maybe time had run under the bridge and
looped back in fantasy. I have no control over
who leaves and who stays. I cannot pretend
that my words will make you stay until
the end of the day.
I am not God anyway.
I saw your house where I visited you often.
The new owner is building a retaining wall;
granite block abutting the back of the property.
He has three dogs. One black and one brown with
heads nearly the size of horses. One is white and
rules the yard; a 15-pound Maltese.
It is Autumn in the afternoon and the breeze from
the north
chilled my hands while the sun behind me
warmed my shirt like it was freshly ironed.
If I lose control, perhaps I’ll suffer less.
If I move along the trails made by deer in the woods
perhaps
life will be more effortless.
God does not hide far away.
