How to be Holy II

Remember dear,
when you see a child bruised,
beaten by the hand of this unripe world,
as she bleeds joy and hope
until her face is the color of untouched snow
and your heart becomes like ash:
weep God in the eyes
and, if no one is around, consider cursing.

Prayer for the Day: The Second Day after Pentecost

Be gentle with us today
because we have been misplaced.
Somewhere beyond the action,
    after your climactic death and return,
    after your final words to us,
    after the winds of Pentecost,
    after the sermons and the baptisms,
We find ourselves outside of your story and inside our own
    made frail again by our loneliness,
    disoriented by your absence,
    overwhelmed by the work ahead.
You've shoved us out of the narrative
    and begged us to find it again
    because the loose strands dangle about our lives
    and, perhaps, no longer out of reach.

We know why it must be this way.
Only, have mercy on us.

How to be Holy

Remember dear,
when you see a cloud rest a finger
on the brim of our wine-glass moon
and bird-blessed air cuddles
your bare cheek against her naked neck
and you feel the gentle pressure
of your chest deepening
against hers
and your heart becomes like untouched snow,
smile God in the eyes
and, if no one is around, consider dancing.

Only a Father Could Know

Only a father could know
      the eloquence of his infant daughter.
The broad vowels and clumsy consonants
      of her, "I'm glad you're here,"

the half-eyed droning
      of sleep's soon arrival,
and the soft cooed morning greeting
      before she knows she's hungry.

Then there is the sharp shrill sound
      of pain, and the tremendous
weight of caring for someone,
      at once, so clear and unspecific

and I suppose this is to say -
      I want You but do not know how,
and that -
   this is the meaning
      of my silence.

a request from your child

I catch her watching me,
from her spot on the floor.

she smiles, wagging her arms,
as I lie down on my stomach facing her -

turn and face us,
that's all I would ask.

Two Poems

If satan won
it would not be the demon-possessed
who would bring him victory.
It would be a conversation
between a husband and wife
when all the complexity of life together
becomes, at a word, unforgivable.


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There is truth
and beyond that
there is hope
and beyond that
there is a small child
flying home alone
resting her head
on the shoulder
of a stranger -
and his wife smiles
as he asks for a blanket.

This Now

This now,
the dimly grim urgency
of hope.

Us,
waiting in hiding -
worried of our heavy breath
to give us away.

and all the world
is colliding, particles
of expectation sparkling
towards heat
and nothing more it seems.

until You,

walking in a field
of wildflowers,

legs swinging lazily
towards your next step,

see a weed but do not pull it out.

simply stay,
just breathe,
only wait with us,
your hair touched by the same breeze -

it is enough.

A Prayer

Silent one, Capture my attention
It is no enough for you to wave your hand
In front of my face
For I am in total darkness

You must touch me
Make yourself known to me
Because all I know is myself
Tortured by thoughts of my inadequacy
Distorted by thoughts of my competency
lost in myself, searching for a way out

You are my rescuer
Loud voice and bright orange vest
Carry me home

If we cry

If we cry
it will not be over the trees
- they were never really in trouble.

it will be the bricks,
and the paths, and the window blinds
that somehow made it after all.