Pensive Windows

 

Pensive Windows

(“He and everyone in his home were devout and respected God. Cornelius gave many gifts to poor Jewish people and always prayed to God.” Acts 10:2)

Teach me to live with nuance and ambiguity,
deliver me from the sin of certainty.
I rehearsed my script, made all the pieces fit,
knew who was cold, guessed who was hot,
discerned who was in, assumed who was not,
and loved the sinner and not the sin
which never made sense to the to the hordes
that lived outside my redline boundaries.

Teach me to live between the clouds and the storm,
release me from the vows I have sworn
that ignore the same flesh and bone who
walk in parks,
laugh at splashed sunlight,
cry when time has deleted their first love or child,
pray with the poor,
move next door to the homeless children
who never knew the names of the preachers up the road.

Let the ink run on the page, let the colors swirl like uncaged
cardinals and bluejays.

Teach me to hear between hymns and tragedies,
deliver me from the sin of duality.
A little gentler and a lot less brutal,
let the total view from the back seat of the universe
ignite my imagination. The rain that falls on my apples
and walnuts
waters the hedges and thistles. And the rivers wash
the footprints of history to the sea.
Finally.

Dressed for the Dance

Dressed for the Dance

(“Pharaoh sent at once for Joseph. He was brought hastily from the dungeon, and after a quick shave and change of clothes, came in before Pharaoh.” Genesis 41:14)

They told me it was ending, the time was closing in,
the final act was over, we waited for the epilogue.
We had heard the announcement for ages, for lifetimes,
for moments we wondered would ever end.

But we kept on dancing, with our without the band.

They told me it was time now, the auditions began,
the callbacks, the final chance to make the team,
to be called an actor, a thespian, a professional
at my craft.

But, I kept on dancing, and never heard their laughs.

They agreed I had talent, I read well, they said,
“You have presence, you have intensity,
your belief is suspended and your belt holds up your pants.”

And I kept on dancing, avoiding cracks to save my mama’s back.

Which is where it started, with her, with mom. I was groomed,
I was dressed, costumed and confessed I loved the stage and applause,
while I was shy as a turtle who dreams of going to school without its shell.
I had done well to fight my bashful nativity until a guerilla war
left me slow to trust and playing in the dust; a quiet corner of my
personal prison cell. Books don’t talk back; books serve as friendship well.

But I dressed for the dance, scrubbed my face, neck and ears;
washed the ancient cream-colored Bug and picked up my date who
helped me

Keep on dancing. Dressed in rags or royal, my estimation is this:
esteem can be beaten, but dancing is forever’s food; dance on,
dance on.