Sorry I Missed

Sorry I Missed

I missed our appointment;
I am sorry, sanity got in the way.
I know someone told you that
anxiety was a sin. I know
they told you that
God is in control.
Did they have an answer why
one bullet missed its mark
and another creased the brain of a
loving father that day?

I missed having drinks with you;
I am sorry, dis-ease got in the way.
I know someone told you that
you would never understand them. I know
they told you that
this was all mandated by God.
Did they have an answer why they
never thought that way when the
candidate they adored lost? Did they
bow to God’s decree when the opposition
took the reins of power? Or does God only
work for one side of the aisle, and not for the other.
Did they mention the person who lost is
a man devoted to faith, a woman devoted to home,
a whole convention full of hope?

I missed dinner with you:
I am sorry, the locked doors got in the way.
I know someone told you that
I was a heretic now. I know someone
mentioned my stumbles that can still be seen
in my bruises and my tears.
Did they have an answer to their own sins,
or of the transgressions of the winner?
Did they appropriate love only for their own kind?

My friend, hold tight your kaleidoscope children;
look deep in the eyes of your spouse nearly deported;
beseech the little god who acts like a bully to
shovel his shit in someone else’s yard.
And ask the Only God to send the love to those
who say his name over and over again but have hardly
ever
offered his love to the others who are no different than
us all; ask the Only God to shower the people with love.

A Missed Phone Call

A Missed Phone Call

(“For I will pour water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground; I will pour my spirit upon your descendants and my blessing on your offspring.” Isaiah 44:3)

I heard you called while I was out,
that you had left a message for me. I fumbled
with the phone, misdialed the number and tried
again.
But my fingers slipped and,
too
tentative to re-call, I thought of
dropping by.

You know already how unsteady I am
when I do not know the subject at hand.

But I have not forgotten how to dream.

While others talked of visions, told in great
detail and
filled with colors like Van Gogh,
I was myopic. An ant carrying a leaf
was glorious to me.

I did not understand that until now. I did not
know how majesty invades a dial tone or
a grain of sand. Could it be,
scratching my head,
that becoming less is a better vantage point
than flying with the fireworks across the sky?

Anyway,
what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I missed your call.

I hesitate to write much at all,
(you know my missteps, my wrong turns, my downfalls)
and you would be right to mention them, though
I carry them heavy. I carry them deadweight. I carry them
inside my body and outside my dreams.

But I will meet you. Give me a time and place. We can
sit by the river if you like; the seals swim by this time of year.

Just no place too crowded please; the noise compounds my
dis-
ease.

But I will meet you.
And exchange an hour of our time, and
let quiet talk replace the pathology of imagining
the worst. We can watch the streams tickle the
pebbled banks.