sons

Bits of me, bits of you
join with bits of heaven never seen before
in our two sons,
the ones
we love as life itself.
He’s strong, he’s kind.
He’s brave. His mind is filled
with dreams which mirror
yours or mine.
But his dreams are new to him.
God drew to him
our hearts,
our bodies,
our lives,
our boys. Our joys.

Sanctuary

My heart and mind are blown with winds
of chaos. And the storm begins
to batter deeper yet, my soul.
Oh, peace of God! Come make me whole!

The air is full of noise and strife—
the makings of our earthly life.
Those forces drain and then they kill
my dreams. And make me lose my will.

I woke today with thoughts and plans
of what I’d do for God. I can
not hold intentions in the flood
of wild creatures without words.

I draw alone into Your room.
The nourishment of Spirit’s womb
revives me and awakens deep-
held convictions from their sleep.

This sanctuary of Your House
holds me gentle as my mother’s arms
when I was yet a tiny babe.
You led me here. And I will stay

until You say it’s time to go.
Then You’ll leave with me. That I know.

circa 2000

Exercise

In 1999 the writers group I was a part of at the time joined together for a writing exercise. We were given a fortune cookie phrase, and asked to elaborate. Here's what I was given, and what I gave back:

“Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned.”

The path has always been a long one, and I knew from the beginning that however far I walked, I would die without seeing the end of it. My feet, nevertheless, were wings, and words my playmates in those early years. I traveled the path, and waved to those I saw along the way. They smiled and waved back, their lips moving with unheard words. Unheard because I was singing too loudly. “This is my way! I know it!” I sang to the birds.

No path to anywhere real is all straight, or all easy, and I learned to know the clouds by name as I gazed up at their dark, full bellies. There is Distraction, there is Hunger, There is Despair. Many a morning I awoke wet and cold and stiff, but the way lay wide open before me. I picked up my dull mind and plodded on.

Now for some years, I have danced in the meadows, cried in the branches of the trees, picnicked in the grass, and looked at the dirt on my feet and wondered how long it would take until my memory of the journey simply faded into the yellow pages on my notebook.

I’ve imagined myself satisfied, paralyzed, mystified, but nothing I imagine can take away the longing to put my feet in motion again. It’s time to walk, again, old woman. Walk until you fly.

To my neighbor who is probably dying

Bill next door
told me that the man I see walking
is walking toward death’s door.
Cancer.
of the esophagus.
He no longer speaks or eats,
but he speaks with his eyes,
and eats up the things he sees
as he walks through the neighborhood, memorizing
his life here. Dreaming of his next one.
The man who is walking and dying
has grown thin this year.
But see how straight he stands,
and how bright
shine his eyes
even through the misty rain this evening.
It’s like the hollows around his eyes are the receding night
and the light in his eyes are the sun rising.
He knows things I want to know.
What it feels like to be letting go
of one’s body,
and taking hold of God’s hand.
He smiles more now than
he did before he grew ill.
What kind of magic does that?
He knows things I want to know.

Tuesday, Late Afternoon

Waking them up is a possibility,
those two young boys
stretched wide on bed and blanket on the floor.
Is the silence too full for me any more?
Missing them? That can’t be it.
I had eight hours of a wet cloudy day
with them before we all fell asleep.
Now I’m awake, but immobilized by dreams
that are not sleeping dreams.
They’re life dreams.
Of what ought to be,
could be,
might have been.
Dreaming isn’t changing anything.
My heart races with a need to change something.
So I will let my children sleep
and try to rouse myself.