I Saw What You Carry

I Saw What You Carry

(“So then, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1)

You walked by and I saw what you carry,
I saw the burdens, the load heaped on you from
far before I knew you. I saw the weight on your
face and around your eyes, the gravity that draws
you down.

The voices you hear are not your own,
or god,
or conscience,
but lyrics of dissonance that have cast
you aside.
Your song is higher. Your melody is sun
and wine. Your story is timeless. Your place

In this world

Was infested with thorns when
poppies should have covered your days
from hill to pond, from pond to horizon,
from horizon to sunsets inhabited by
butterflies.

I will shoulder the load for a while. I will
rewrite the lyrics.
I will find a place, a meadow or a beach,
where you can lay some of them down.
I will reflect the way the light plays off your face,
I will let you see your original portrait in my heart.

Lay them down. Breathe the daylight. Believe you
are flawed and fabulous, free and no mere accident.
Lay them down. And this moment, this second,
this tiny universe of time,
feel the hands of all who have loved you
and leave the others behind.

You walked by and I saw the light in
everyone’s eyes that
twinkle because of you.
You were never meant for ice, though some
have left you cold. And this season,
this turning, this inexact point in time,
feel the hearth of all the hearts that
would warm you forever,
because they have seen you

Walk by too.

I Have No More Speeches

I Have No More Speeches

(“Woe to you lawyers as well! For you load people with burdens that are hard to bear, while you yourselves will not even touch the burdens with one of your fingers.” Luke 11:46)

The path is not steeper but
my steps have grown slower.
My dreams are now erasures of
things that once were second nature.
I no longer draw people with my words,
I see them leave upon the first stroke of the painting.
I try to pray at the end, a benediction, and bow to
tie blessings to bodies that wander like planets.
I did not reach “amen”. I quit halfway through.

We met in catacombs, a basement with rooms like
honeycombs. I had been there often where antique books
and furniture
could be found in every alcove. This time all was removed
except for the corners. It was now a labyrinth.

I let you down. I ran out of breath. I remembered every stubbed toe,
every stumble that was the death of the next thing that I carried
like an obligation. Some saw and carried me further.
Some heard and only guessed. I knew. And could not
lay the burden of dying to rest.

There were eyes of unseen guests; they may have been there
from the beginning. The only ones I remember were the
tears that came from all the pain of dragging their war chest
so far up the mountain.

I exhale and sit on a gray concrete block. I cannot
cry. I am shaky and flushed and wish there was a spinet piano
to hide behind. This climb has not refined me, it has subtracted
layers of flesh from my feet and years of conquest from my soul.

I have no more speeches within me. My prayers have come to an end.
I’ll move outside the hallowed basement and
hope for the joy of finally
not being seen.