Upside-Down Echoes

Upside-Down Echoes

(“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9a)

Where are the words that paint as lovely as
midnight blue? Where are they that describe
the corner the young warrior sits in thinking
she will never get the chance to make up for the
losses she faced?

Not everyone signs up to fight. Failing is so much
quicker than winning. But once you’ve lost, the
rope clenches your brain, suspends your hopes,
and convinces you it will all happen again.

There are notes written on each snowflake
lightly falling like white autumn leaves.
It is cold there in the corner, it is lonesome and
unavoidable.

If you’ll allow, I’ll climb in the corner with you,
we can count to three while we rehearse our losses,
our bottomless ability to flee from nothing.
Did you bring your ammunition? Let’s disarm
ourselves
from the echo that reverbs, wall to wall,
and turns us upside down.

I know you have a voice, you have a word,
you have a sentence, you have a book.
Are you afraid you’ve betrayed your oath?
Are you sitting here while we both rehearse
our failures?

I’ll see in you if you’ll see in me
just one more win than we have losses.

There Is Enough for Breakfast

There Is Enough for Breakfast

(“These six cities will be safe places for the people of Israel and for the stranger and for the one who visits them.” Numbers 34:15a)

Come inside, you don’t need to run anymore.
Wipe the dust from your feet,
sit in the rocking chair on the porch,
have some wine. Let your eyes shine again
with hope
that has nothing left to hide.

I know you don’t understand,
It flies well over my head too.
But this house,
these occupants,
this rectangular piece of lawn
and mud and
douglas firs and
hummingbirds;
they do not strictly belong to me.

Did you steal? I don’t wanna know.
Did you lose your identity when
the sheriff plastered your face on
posters and envelopes sent in the mail?
It may be too early to tell,
and there may be more losses ahead;
but here and now there is safety.
Here and now there is music, (you
pick the playlist). Herer and now
there are no magistrates or ministers
dropping the gavel like a boulder on your head.

You can tell the whole story; you can sit in silence.
I am not a warden. I have a rap sheet too.
But here there is no violence, no words understood
too clearly to miss their mark. (Yes, it surprises me as well
when the waggled fingers exclaim they never meant to say
anything unkind-only-truthful.)

There is fruit here to be picked: apples are a bit late,
our pears are sparse, and the blackberries believe the
yard belongs to them. But there is enough for breakfast;
oatmeal or cream of wheat? And, since we knew you were
coming
there are a dozen donuts on the kitchen counter.

Let us be your refuge, let us be your sanctuary,
let us take the wrap for the naysaying nation
that can’t wait to send you to face the charges
you never denied. Let us be the child’s fort
that only allows friends inside.

Come now, to the table. Chili is on,
the wine is poured, and we may laugh at how
migrants like us ever found a place
so safe
to stay.