take hunger, take thirst
Go
stand in the storm
know this to be true:
Thunder, wind, rain
fall splendor from this
Cloud-dark sky
and lift these things
empty into tumult–
The way a man might lift his just-born
hunger, thirst
Once and only filled
By the God of the storm
Looks like deep
Sleep
Draped across the seat
across the bodies of these hungry
Children
Immobilizing poison
Shot into blood vessels, skin
I call to you, no answer
Try to warn you
This venal monster
Hunts then kills its prey
No answer, Sleeping Beauty
Already heroin gone
Who takes apples from strangers in a storm?
Do you believe in ever after?
All the tropes of fairy tales will not save us from
The story of a little girl trapped
In this worst kind
Of nightmare tries to call
for help
Nothing left
As the anatomical apparatus for sound and breath:
Lungs, rib cage, windpipe
Collapses beneath the weight,
The force of blows to this chest,
All alone,
Of the used-to-be
girl.
John 11:4 NIV[4] When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.”
What is impossible? Is gravity? The suspension of gravity? Space flight? Sea urchins?
We live in a world filled with wonder and darkness. The wonder feels improbably miraculous until the darkness throws an extreme curve ball and bam!
Death takes all.
Or so it seems.
When Jesus says this sickness will not end in death it seems like he knows what he is talking about.
Several days later when he weeps with the mourners he seems like a total nut job. Until…
I am going to hold that until–single note sung in the dark.
Some of the untils we weep through are excoriating, catastrophic…terminal.
It is important to pause at Jesus’ pronouncement. If you know the story you might be tempted to breeze through to “the good stuff,” but in this case time takes the stage–time for Lazarus to go from well to unwell, time for Lazarus to go from unwell to fatally ill. Time for Lazarus to die. Time for Lazarus to be prepared for the grave. Time for grief. Disbelief. Sorrow. Anger.
And the apparent absence of Jesus.
But…
He is not absent. He is impossible. He is the God of the impossible.
Wait. Impossible means powerless, the opposite of able.
How can God, by his very nature omnipotent, be defined as not able.
Deliberately. He was intentionally…
“not able” in death.
“not able” on the Cross.
“not able” for us.
Jesus called Lazarus out of the grave in preparation for his own death. He gave his followers an impossible four day route through death and burial so that when it was his death they would only have to wait three days.
The three darkest days of history. Three impossible days.
Until…
Sunday morning and the God of impossible things walks back in.
When you were little your foster father would throw you in the air above him. Within one second your face would register fear, exhilaration, joy, laughter.
It has always been a picture in my head–this God of sea urchins and dwarf stars throws us high up in the air for each single looped thread in the seam of all eternity.
The fear and uncertainty only bearable when we know, know, know…
He will catch us in His arms.
As He has already caught your beautiful mama, let Him catch us too…
Forever.
Safe in the outstretched arms
of Love.
Luke 18:27 NIV
[27] Jesus replied, “What is impossible with man is possible with God.”
this is what I would say,
If I were your real mother–
Use the pink phone with the rubber buttons
the canned voice locked inside it
–May I help you? She would ask gamely
Each time you rang her up
She would
Drop everything
Just to hear your voice
At the other end of the line.
This skinny-dipping moon
rises yellow
(Neither he nor she)
reminds me
light can change in a moment
from red to orange to yellow to
Luminous bright
crust, iron-rich this
Grey mantle
Why shine so?
Whisp of rock
Floating in the dark,
So dark-it makes the pale naked
Appear so bright
In this sea of sky, always
borrowing light.
Long line
characteristic of this
big box store–
A lady with pitted prunes in her cart
First in line
to get something adjusted,
Married couple buying matching
Timepieces
Keep the receipts.
An older man who claims to know
exactly what he wants
And the young mama with the baby
whose tiny, perfect
ears will soon be pierced
and me–
Squandering time
on overpriced trinkets
Entombed behind the
so-called jewelry counter.
We all wait so long
scanning synthesized treasures
cheap, yet still
…overpriced
Discount baubles
draw the eye
but for the sake of the sleeping child
I make it quick,
buy the thin band
reminder of the old promise
Tell myself
Buy a boat, stow your things in
the gut,
sail into sunset.
for seven years
in the back of my head
there has been a terrible
Terrible story
started a long time ago
When a 15 year old boy
hurt his little sister
(Bad)
and then…
Our paths separate at this point.
And I only know the story of the other 15 year-old-November-16-2009-boy
Because I talked about you, Charles, my-used-to-be-son
All the time
Until tonight I did not know your doppelgänger’s name–
Jamar Pinkney, Jr.
Or the queasy details
No, not the terribly private awful
…the public strange
—don’t call a child molester “Teddy Bear” or put his face on your t-shirt
Ask instead–
How in God’s name…
Is his little sister?
A basket full of deplorables:
they say love is in the eye of the beholder
Whatever the heck that means
But what about deplorable?
Is that open for interpretation as well?
Or is it etymologically and irrevocably anchored to hell?
To white, doughy, affluent men who use their power and money to force themselves on teenagers?
Or white, doughy, affluent women
Who malign child rape victims to
Free the perps sooner,
take their campaign donations by the hundred million
Buckets full of baby parts
Littering the sterile field
Capitalizing on
the saline burn, scissor beheading
Of minority
disabled
And female fetuses
Deplorable
Basket
where there should be babies
I walk into the house just as the smallish bandits, pirates, and cowboys dash through the living room brandishing colorful weaponry.
Some tend to be softish, others–bullets made of foam, none lethal, although all inspire the requisite awe in the dogs, certainly held at bay.
There is a formal request for pillows to be requisitioned for a fortress. The Quartermaster readily assents, asserting that a fortress is a fortress is a fortress.
Suddenly every camp, garrison, base, castle, encampment, barricade, stronghold in the annals of history forever bound to this laughter, this moment of joy, this pillow…
Fortress.
they say you should not
look directly
at the sun
ignoring the real possibility
that it is the night
that has already
blinded us
To the scared, cold,
Ordinary child
In each photograph
Owned by
This oddball monster
While the dying sun,
Claw-handed scribe, failing light,
Scribbles justicejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejusticejustice…justicejusticejustice
Into one kind of eternity
Or another
Carrying Light 