I Want to Take the Long Way Home

I Want to Take the Long Way Home

(“He will rejoice over you with gladness. He will bring you quietness with His love. He will delight in you with shouts of joy.” Zephaniah 3:17b)

I can’t help it,
these thoughts of dancing,
these images of your eyes flashing,
these songs with words only you will understand.
I can’t help it;
I want to take the long way home.

The moon loves to light your face,
the stars cannot wait to shine,
the sun has reserved you a place
where no one intrudes. I can’t help it;
I want to tell you everything.

We were plopped down on the water,
we learned to swim on the fly.
We were left here almost forgotten,
we found each other swimming for shore.
We had no one to tell us what all the excitement was for.
We thought the river would be deeper,
we thought the current might suck us under,
we thought we might not make it to the sandy beach,
we thought the night might come on us too soon.

But we were mistaken, weren’t we, even before we
knew each other’s names. Even before the morning
rose from the foothills we learned we were not meant
to be alone. We were not meant to fear the touch
of a newcomer’s hands. And the river hugged us
as we camped where the trees met the water in
a private circle enclosing us like love. Sleep
evaded us,
we were learning each other’s songs.

We were a kiss and breathless,
we were stories we only told each other.
We were laughter, we were hot tears,
we were puzzled, but we were not alone.

And that is why, this day and every day,
I wanted to take the long way home.

You Wear Stripes and I’ll Wear Checks

 You Wear Stripes and I’ll Wear Checks

(“Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion. Sing aloud, Daughter Jerusalem. Look, your king will come to you. He is righteous and victorious. He is humble and riding on an ass, on a colt, the offspring of a donkey.” Zechariah 9:9)

You wear stripes and I’ll wear checks,
we’ll dance until the world thinks we are the whirling milkshakes
from the midway at the state fair.
We’ll walk past the sunset, we’ll take our hands out of our pockets,
we’ll walk without a word to say, we’ll take the same midday meals we
took yesterday.

We’ll lay down the memories, etch them into the sidewalk,
we’ll lay down the memories so plain, we will never forget
the dancing that brought rain, the songs no one explained,
and the hours we spent unafraid of the next day or the day after
That.

Tomorrow we might step up to the sky,
tomorrow we might climb the stair, see if we can fly.
Let us look like fools in a world that, adoring war,
celebrates medals and ribbons, bombs and acquisitions;
let us loop behind the firepower with wild poppies from the fields.
Let us lead the parade on
the day after tomorrow
where gardens and festivals meet on sunny Sundays
midafternoon.

Have you seen us lately? Have you felt the breeze?
Have you heard us lately? Have you felt the thawing
of ice bricks; have you felt the mighty withdrawing
from their thrones?

Sing, though the words are indecipherable. Dance, though
the patterns and colors do not mix. Feast, though your pockets
are empty. Drink, though you have forgotten why.

You wear stripes and I’ll wear checks,
we’ll walk down the midway from entrance to exit,
wearing palm branches for sandals and the flowers we
planted where muskets once were manufactured.

At The End of The Road

 At The End of The Road

(“Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!” Luke 15:6b)

Why do we build the wall,
can you tell me the story again?
Why do we keep our gold inside
and everyone out
and at what cost?
Why do we lock our gates,
can you recite the code again?
Why do we twist our iron into
so many shapes
and chain them with locks?

Look down, look down the road,
the dust is stirred by the feet of returning.
The light is blurred by the whisps of
bleating songs. Live sounds. Flying sounds.
From grey to white, from infra to ultra sounds.

Wait down, wait at the end of the road,
the sun will soothe your churning eyes.
The tiny strays, (the best of days) have found
their way home. Long travels. Footprint travels.
From lost to found, sound to song travels.

Why not tear down the wall,
that is the story older than time?
Why not share our wealth
with the dizzy children
without cost?
Why not open the gates,
so princes on donkeys can enter?
Why don’t we straighten our steel eyes
toward the horizon
and wait

At the end of the road?

LIke a Trial Balloon

 

Like a Trial Balloon

(“Rejoice greatly, people of Jerusalem! Shout for joy, people of Jerusalem! Your king is coming to you. He does what is right, and he saves. He is gentle and riding on a donkey, on the colt of a donkey.” Zechariah 9:9)

I wanted today to be soft like a trial balloon,
but it was crunchy like leftover bits of tortilla chips.
And still it had the trademark of the divine all over it.

I wanted today to be glistening like a birthday cake,
but it was scratchy like acne or poison ivy.
Yet still it had the maker’s mark identifying it.

I wanted today to be back slaps and victory songs,
bass lines and jazz vibes,
but it was castoffs and headline pain,
backward lyrics and notes between the lines.

The author, the known and unknowable,
wrote the copyright
in script that spoke
so little
I knew it was meant for me.

The Music from Within

 

The Music from Within

(‘Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” Philippians 4:4)

One day you can hear the mandolin strings singing just
outside your window.
The next day the fog hangs so close nothing pierces the
heavy silence.
Some weeks are lived this way, and some years.
Some storms turn suddenly away and some
sit overhead like they have nothing else to do.

One day you’re riding comfortably under convertible skies,
the next you’re confined inside a cramped stone basement
averting your eyes from the next claustrophobic wall of sound.

Joy is not for the faint of heart,
but for those willing to confront the darkness
and the detours
that stop us in our tracks. Deeper than the cellar floors
and the shadows, higher than the star-view disguises,
wider than ecstatic proclamations, and closer than
the bud to the branch

Is the unmovable space where love abides,
where transient meets immanent,
where music from within captivates us
when continental shelfs shake us to our core.

Outdoor Venues

Outdoor Venues

(“And you shall rejoice before the Lord your God in all that you undertake.” Deuteronomy 12:18b)

Well beyond the place where the vibrations fade,
having exerted all their energy from quivering guitar strings,
having placed each note prettily along the sunny concert day;
far beyond the posters and placards that announced the next
Concert in the Park
the melody had found the range of its existence and settled like
the last mist; a carpet rolled out for afternoon.

There, beyond, like old AM radios in the midnight desert,
the primary movement was children’s laughter forte,
mothers’ chatting mezzo piano with a staccato blue jay
taking the stage away with its percussion.

But, between changes on  slide, or lines for the swing,
the faraway concert, behind time, fell out of breath upon
the little park just long enough to catch the phrase,
while the title elusive flutters and fades into oblivion at the next
“Push me higher” from baby sister to
favorite auntie. Both would return home with
one of three measure of a pop tune stuck like

Sonoral super glue, only magnified by sleep.