untitled
all day i pop my knuckles
and inscribe the moments on these bones.
hands tired from the tire-turn of driving,
shoulder slouched from the cheek-weight of love.
my fingers still ache to crack these things into place.
Jesus, it’s me again
I’m pulling on your sleeve
Lifting up a prayer
Reaching out to touch the tassels of your prayer shawl
Wanting to make a connection
Wanting to be vine and branch
Wanting you to be the constant light of my life
I want to be the answer to your command to love as you loved
I want to be the answer to your prayer for unity and peace
I’m asking for your help and companionship
You ask, Do you love me?
Yes, Lord Jesus, I love you with all my heart
You answer, then your prayer is already answered
Dear friend, I’m sorry I told him you were into the bad boy in 6th grade
It wasn’t a lie, but I knew he wanted to kiss you
Even though he and I talked on the phone for hours at a time and I tried to love wrestling the way he loved wrestling
I wanted to kiss him so bad
In high school, he got a truck
And suddenly he wasn’t riding to the show in my backseat
With my little brother
Eating at Long John Silver’s, and not sharing his pie
He took the skinniest girl he could find
And lost his virginity in that truck
Even though we laughed together every day and I even let him crack my knuckles just to be touched
Pretty soon, we were basically strangers, and
I never did get to see what his lips tasted of
The water runs
The trees sway
And the sun shining through
The sound of laughter
The comfort of friends
It’s so peaceful
How the simple things
Can be so beautiful
A hand out the window
Rolling through a small town
The music up loud
Smiling faces all around
Reminiscing on childhood memories
It’s so peaceful
How the simple things
Can be so beautiful
The moon peaks
Through the puffy clouds
It’s still light out
The wind is blowing lightly
The bluegrass music plays softly
It’s so peaceful
How the simple things
Can be so beautiful
For some reason, the old mountain hermit
came down from the mountain. A former son
of a rich farmer, he’d gone to war,
came home, found God, after a rough time
in the north of France. Lived alone, now,
was said he prayed all day long, for hours
unending in the nave of the woods.
That Sunday, folks in church wore their best,
listened politely. The old preacher raised his hands
in the hot storefront church and said, “Brethren,
do not be ashamed.” He wiped his brow
with a yellowed hankie. “It is our job,”
he said, “To love one another.”
A silence crept through the wide windows of
the former feed store. “Brothers and sisters,”
he began again. “We are called upon
to be a new thing.” The congregation sat still,
mouths drawn. Who was this man,
to call upon them to behave like new
people? They already knew their God’s
contours and found it was like their own.
i watched a decrepit man
lift a soviet cup to his lips
before setting it back down
he held a cigarette between his fingers
taking a long draw from it
before dropping it into the cup
and walking away from the cafe
i don’t think he even left a tip
