I neglect to tell the children
Why It was I had to
trim the tangled branches,
Cut, unbraid the predatory vines snaking scars into the flesh
Of these ever watchful trees
I should have rescued long ago
Remedial Botany
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Tag Archives: redemption
Pearl
Once upon a time the Treasure of the world entire told a story about treasure in a field, treasure within treasure, a kingdom in a kingdom in a seemingly arbitrary object, a field of the whole world
I remember when these angry men were children, lovable children, and now they behave as though they still don’t know
You are the treasure
The King and his Kingdom is the treasure.
And if that were not enough, what will a man do if he (gains the whole world)
And loses his own soul?
Levitas
The children hover above
The greenest grass
Their small, bare feet
flip back and forth rhythmically keeping them
Aloft, airborne hummingbirds
Their father questions this decision
This ordinary use of levitation which can only be
Accomplished by the very young
But I insist I remember once being just such an unfettered soul
Defined by light
We live in other rooms
The sun inhales deep, swims down, down to us through a drowned world of trees, still our guardian angels, bright fish dart among them, impersonating song birds, the children are not safe here anymore
As ordinary men huddle and cast lots
for the seamless robe of
God
The Harrowing of Hell
We ask liturgical questions, why must the dead pretend they are anything else, here in the depths of the world where we have waited so long? We resemble our former selves, only shadows now, constructing chalk outlines of the world which has gone on without us
When he breaks through we watch in awe, chalk outlined arms raised, like children who must be helped into
The clothing of this beautiful
Hereafter
Lazarus/Dives
Mangling the vulgate so close to the end of our story, dive, I tell him. Dive into the deep
Blue water, temporary darkness
The way a man may rise
From his own grave, from his shroud
If the voice of the Divine
Calls him back
Eulogizing Joe
Methuselah lived 969 years, which means that at just over 100, my grandfather was a spring chicken, as lifespans go. That notwithstanding he got a lot done. Married, participated in at least three wars, fathered children, buried some. Lost a wife, found another, called me his oldest unmarried granddaughter for as long as it applied.
I loved him in all his iterations, in all his familiar imperfections, but I know Someone who loves him more.
The One who is the Road
The All and Only
Road Home.
Psalm 116
My anger dog, my anger cat
This morning I contemplated creating (Galatea-style), a metaphorical anger mascot.
Something with breathable fake fur and big flappy hands.
But I realized I have real pets who fit the bill–
An anger dog, an anger cat.
She rolls on her belly so I can pet her, but barks mercilessly at her compatriot
He snuggles close, however briefly, attempts his most disingenuous
Resting cat face
But I know I cannot
Let them
Run free.
The Supine Condition
It helps me sometimes, to picture all of us in our sheep costumes, thin elastic chin straps, holding on our faces.
Helps me to remember
We are all sheep
If you don’t count the wolves among us
And all we, like sheep have gone astray
So you will not be the one to forgive my helpless anger
At all the lambs lost to slaughter
While the Shepherd was away.
Carried Over
We are collectively surprised at how ephemeral the boat is, balloonish, easily punctured. As are we. I wonder if the others have drawn the same conclusions-we have become ghosts in our erstwhile stories, still haunted by the house, by the spouse, by the hope we left behind.
Only Lazarus whistles a chipper tune. Why is he so happy? Because nothing is a cool hand to lose.
