It is a line from a song sung by the super-heroic woman who can restore what has been lost or broken and I borrow it as I search for the little ones, so brave, so beloved
I want them all back, past undone
gordian-knotted he would say
Every family has a hot-head he would say
Oh my beautifuls,
All treasure
Any day–today
We
could skitter down the concrete spillway, slide unceremoniously into
This river, dying leaves catch in our hair
We suspect we know who burned the burlap wedding gown used to dress the
Wounded tree
no way the boy could
have mistaken the signs of our ministration
For kindling
Yet, all has been
Inexplicably paid
by The Burlap Bridegroom
Who takes the flames
Restores the river
Revives the tree
And fashions
wedding clothes
Out of light
Matthew 25:10,13 NIV
[10] “But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived…[13] “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.
Wisdom says, “the only copy of Crime and Punishment is in the locked bookmobile. We will have to break in and steal it.”
And how would that look?
He says
We do things a little differently here
And I guess I didn’t see
How literally he meant it
the shady pecan, the shotgun shack
Give me
Give me
these tokens we have in our hands but cannot staunch
Such indelible grief
my little ones
all gone
What if God were just twice as smart as you? Twice as nice. Twice as precise. Would you worry then, Darling?
Worry about the things He would tell you
Before, not after, the flood
The possibility of both
Righteous anger and a casual
Ordinary
Blast of glory
Refuting all the
niggling details of narcissism
And all your little monsters
Eyeing you hungrily from their corners
Waiting to take all
The clues, the love-notes, the blazing stars
He has strewn about this place
Only hope for
Ransom.
First of all, let me reiterate that I do not expect you two to go the distance–not that prophetic considering where you are today and the inauspicious nature of this ceremony of disaster.
Most weddings are full of shi…..ps, little paper boats people fold along seams, scribble on, and push out onto whatever river they believe in. They write platitudes for the pain, use costly words all wrong.
Then the little boats float off
Leaving you there at the altar, no more substantial than cake topper avatars
Not ready for this:
Loves fierce resolve
To begin and end/end and begin
Together.
I left the paperwork on the books with the state of Texas
Left the judge in the shade of the beautiful burr oak
Walked away from the running lights
Left that old me behind
All I got left for you, kiddo
Is these words, these prayers poured out
In a language God understands
I ask the children who would win
In a foot race
Einstein or Newton?
S. says the wearing of wigs would matter
And I picture Newton trotting gamely behind
Losing precious seconds
As he tries to keep the wig on.
Gravity is something you might believe in
Or streams of consciousness
But not Jesus, my subjective friend
Whose fury you have misjudged
Like the smallest of figures in the distance
Moving inexorably toward you
Fire in his eyes
–Revelation 19
In my grief I sit on a park bench with you, both of us just cartoon characters feeding pigeons when I turn to you and say, it’s going to get cold soon
Better find shelter.
You take the burn boat out
Should have been used to
Ferried day trippers
Or taken provisions for the larder
But not this–
Watch a man built then burn
His own funeral pyre
With the ease of a fraud or
Automaton
Feigning the act of breathing
In and
Out
Just to
fool us all.
Carrying Light 