Much Further than Yesterday

Much Further than Yesterday

(“Wake up, sleeper! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Ephesians 5:14b)

My thoughts can scatter like marbles
out of the bag
rolling across the floor with some lost
underneath the couch.
My thoughts can darken like fog forming
on a late night downtown
blearily luring me to sleep.

But I can see straighter, eyes opened,
and light filling my miscreant mind.
I can find the sun I had lost track of,
the moon I had forgotten existed in the
middle of the night. I search the stars to
keep me awake with patterns drawn over
eternity.

I could go out for a ride while the smog
chocked my lungs;
I could turn back and find the coordinates
for the home that had challenged my dying thoughts.
I could order the same food as a day ago
and think it was the first time ever.
I could let my brain get some rest
and see things anew once the sun rose again.

I could wake up like a baby waiting to be fed;
I could go outside and feel the dew on my feet
while my eyes became accustomed to the light. I could see
much further than I did the day before yesterday.

How Multiplied

How Multiplied

(“For there will never cease to be poor people in the land; that is why I am commanding you, ‘Open your hand willingly to your poor and needy brother in your land.’” Deuteronomy 15:11)

There is not much but there is
more than I can carry. I could load it all on
my back, but how far could I go?
I could leave some behind, but who would
hijack my best intentions?
Come journey with me, we will share the load.
Come circle the sunset, come draw the morning rain.
Come as I follow the siren call, the angel’s refrain,
and we’ll split everything we find with anyone else
we meet on the trail. Why would we
keep more than they need? Why would we look the
other way?
I’ve pretended to be happy,
I’ve acted like I was not hungry.
But, truth be told, I still have unbidden tears and
my stomach craves an answer. Have you
felt the same way too? Am I the only one?
Do you wake up on days when everything is provided
and still feel like a pauper on the street?
Do you ever doubt the direction life has propelled
you, the trajectory of unnecessary missiles?
There is more poverty than simply lacking dollars,
there is more hunger than missing loaves of bread.
I’ll open my hand, I’ll help you up to the trail,
we can climb the waterfall we discovered as a couple of
adolescent boys when we were to afraid to ascend. We know
the rocks will be slippery,
but we need another adventure, a reason to sigh.
Or we’ll just walk in silence until it is time to eat again,
and we’ll claim our bread and wine, and we’ll
invite each passerby to share our meager provision
and we’ll see how multiplied we can be. We’ll
see how multiplied we all can be.

Ribbons Without Rhyme

Ribbons Without Rhyme

(“Wake up, sleeper! Rise from death, and Christ will shine on you.” Ephesians 5:14b)

I’m not the same. Are you?
We look for a face that will match
the spirit we’ve always known.
But I’m not the same. Anyway,
I’ve lost the instructions that I followed
to play the games so perfectly. I knew the rules,
and so did you. And we masked everything that
didn’t line up or
kept leaking out from the margins of our mistakes.
If only someone had woken us earlier.
If only we took the sun to bed during the longest
night of our soul.

Here I am. There are you.
The air has lifted the notes that drifted
from our pens into the desert expanse.
Faintly we promise we’ll find them before
the day is over. Granted we won’t remember them;
sainted we’ll still search for them two years hence.
I spent some time looking for the words in ink
that once flowed like a midnight moon above the
hard-bed floor. I didn’t guess it. Did you?
And did we quote those before us,
or pretend we are the originals? Strings of
poetry, ribbons without rhyme, we wrapped up the
day, the shortest
day in the cold.

We could invite others to write,
we could open our circle. Couldn’t we?
Laughter has become so expensive, can we
afford to investigate all the reasons why?
Or shall we simply find another band of brothers
to walk along the riverbed, look into the sky,
smoke a cigarette or two and admit we never knew
why
anyone would understand the game we created
or the
words we weaved so seriously when

We walked further than we planned and discovered
more than the mixture of day-to-night. We would
tell the story decades from now.

The Steam May Rise

The Steam May Rise

(“Peace in place of bitterness! You have preserved my life from the pit of destruction; behind your back you cast all my sins.” Isaiah 38:17)

Tonight, the steam may rise from
wet pavement warmed by tropical sun.
Tonight ice may form on heated roofs
to melt away near noon.
Tonight pipes might freeze, children shiver,
moms wonder how soon someone will deliver
the next cord of wood to heat her leaky home.

I might put on a movie tonight.
I might think of calling someone too late who
is my age
and lives three time zones away. They used to live
in my neighborhood. We have become elongated,
whisked like dancing pellets of sleet.

Tonight, someone may dream and wake in peace
who dreads the pillow every night. Knives and
sharpened tongues
have kept her away for years. When her eyelids close
the haunting begins. She would be rid of them. But
dreams are slow and deep. She needs something fierce
to open tomorrow, something strong to lock the past.

I might have shrimp tonight.
I might write, I might wish the ocean was nearer
and I could hear how waves buzz no matter the time of year.

Tonight may narrow my options,
tomorrow may open them wide.
Yesterday I composed a new song,
today I forgot it all.
Tomorrow may offer me a self-portrait
I painted once to remember who I am.

Or perhaps
we can all arise again.