Simply Complex

 

Simply Complex

(“Then Jesus said, ‘I have come into this world to judge: Blind people will be given sight, and those who can see will become blind.’” John 9:39)

Paper thin eyes scan the horizon line
for the next message sent from gathering skies
to caulk the open seams of frightful facades.

Who could shiver more?

It is all piecemeal anyway, this grand passageway
through time. One grain and another falls on top
of endless beaches and some pretend to
count them all.

Who could hide beneath the piers that long?

The handful I carry today will be half as much tomorrow,
the sighs might be laughter,
the racing heart may find rest after
a simple lunch of
wine and cheese.

Who could promise days like these?

Feigning sanity we mow down the opposition.
We protect our position in the castle on the hill
pinning all our hopes on cannons that make fodder
of all who advance on the slopes below.

Who could explain it to the maker of the mountains?

We even write our copy out loud,
read the news, eat green beans, walk the dog,
make love, reheat pizza and save bags of marbles
for another day. We are not complicated, we are
simply complex.

Who could confine grace to words between leather covers?

The Leather Hills

The Leather Hills

(“So then, we must each give an account of ourselves to God.” Romans 14:12)

Do you remember when we used to roam
the leather hills?
Green lace trees grew crooked from charcoal trunks
and we would sit in the shade occasionally.
Do  you remember when music floated above us
just close enough to grab the tune? Do you remember,
before we stopped listening?
Do you remember carefree summers, frozen root beer mugs
and using 7-up and crackers for communion?

Do you remember how certain I was, how studied and
discerning? Do you remember when we called Madeleine L’Engle
a heretic and waited in line for the
evangelist from India to push us over with a prayer or weariness
from standing?

Do you know it has been 20 years since we talked,
two decades since the plug was pulled? But,
the sentence came down from above, and without my consent,
an ally became neither friend nor enemy. Do you remember me
being nothing to you?

Do you know I never walked as well as I spoke;
that I tired easily on the hills? Do you know I wept when
I woke in the claustrophobic middle of the night,
that I prayed in the cold darkness to have the demons
leave once and for all? Do you know how I despaired,
and returned abed worse than I began?

Do you know my failures are public, well known among some,
hinted at among others? Do you remember the white blush
when the blood left my face as I confessed it all and begged?
Do you remember the three hour lunch, the tears you shed,
while you told me the story of your beloved, your wife (35)
who died as cancer removed her, and your brave faith.
And I remember how they stood on her grave and expected her
to meet you from under the sod.

Do you remember boxes, assumptions, bosses who made presumptions
that I was much worse than he knew? Do you remember poverty with
children who smelled like war? Do you remember the pocket-knife that
slashed the back pew in the hands of one of them? Do you remember
the never again pronounced so mightily?

Can you imagine, my account will be incomplete? I’ll delete the most
unworthy offenses. Can you imagine, so will you? Or, knowing nothing
more than we know here,
will we dismantle the fences and go walking again

On the leather hills where the spring of healing spills
the last thing we’ll ever remember?