For all who grieve

You have heard it said. Consider the lilies.
But I say to you
consider the potato.

Two months ago I dug deep holes in the earth
and planted split, old, inedible potato pieces
into the garden in the appointed rows.

Today I went to the garden to grieve.
Sixteen days ago we buried Aunt Grace.
On the hill. Where I knew she would eventually go.

The weeds had sprung up,
the potato stalks were shriveled and tired.
I ripped at the weeds. Angry at their insolence.

And then one stalk bore witness to a miracle yet unseen.
The tiniest potato clung to the roots uprooted.
A minute promise.

With spade in hand and hope in heart,
I dug. Carefully. Gently.

Where I had planted half a potato I counted twelve.
Beautiful. Whole. Perfect.

I went to the garden to grieve.
And left rejoicing.

Neglected Garden

Between the heat,
the rain,
and a lethargy that accompanies loss,
the garden has been neglected.
The weeds are too happy, the zucchini too fat,
the rhubarb too old.
But the work that was done early in the season,
the close planting, the grass clippings spread,
has helped a little.
What has helped a lot is
God's sun,
God's rain,
and God's love making the soil rich.
Things still grow even when neglected.
Thanks be to God.

Just When

When there is no hope,
hope is born.
When there is no rest,
sleep comes.
When you can't feel love,
love rises.
When the night is forever,
the sun surprises.

The Sky Turns Grey

Sometimes the sky turns grey
just when you think it should.
When the dreariness, weariness inside you
escape and darken the world.
Sometimes the sun ignores your heart
and shines, shines, blinds,
insists and persists
and changes your mind
about everything.

The Colors of Grief

Blue. Like the wide open sky.
Red. Like the rose that forgot to open.
Purple. Like the grapes with sweet skin and sour fruit.
Green. Like zucchini that grows overnight.
Black. Like the dark hallway.
Pink. Like tender new flesh.
Yellow. Like the early dandelion that is bound to change.
White. Like cold snow, and the clouds against the summer sky.
Blue, like the sky....

Life's a Circus

When life's a circus
and the crowd is looking on
will I be the lion tamer full of bravado,
the freakish bearded lady full of testosterone,
or the lovely rider on horseback full of grace?

I Tell Myself

I tell myself the heat will be gone in the night and that
the season will change. And change.
I tell myself that the memory will not fade.
I sing to myself to fill the hollow,
and sleep long until tomorrow.
I tell myself that there is as much truth in a moment
as in the year leading up to it.

Many things I tell myself,
and I hear me saying to myself, Believe me.

An Old Dog

Flattened against the floor,
his tail sweeps, his eyelids raise,
but he does not lift his head.
I know how tired he is, and
how hard it is to express his love.
But I see beyond the lethargy
and know that in his heart he runs to
greet me at the door.

God knows
some days I am an old dog too.

We Tend the Living and the Dying

You
you water the flowers
you keep your eye on the garden
you pluck the weeds and watch the skies for rain

while I
I sit at the bedside of Grace
murmuring prayers and
watching for signs of pain.

We sing songs which hint at
future glory.