Posts for 2020 (page 58)

you know, my friend says, these kinds of clovers are actually endangered. and here we are, standing in a field full of them.

he’s right. their stems are wide awake in the breeze, furling out into petals, like they don’t know any better. like it’s just that easy.

yesterday i learned that in an alabama prison, death row inmates rattle the bars of their cells, bang their metal cups and plates and scream, each time one of them is being strapped into the chair. i wonder when they decide their last words. how many choose to say nothing at all.

i see it more clearly now, how life is a fragile thing, and death in someone else’s hands. sometimes, even, in a child’s hopeful fingers, digging through entire fields for a stroke of luck.

Nothing ever comes
completely back together
and even what can be reconstructed
is never without weakness.
If pressed, the healing
will crumble and revert
because we’ve learned fear, cowering
at the slightest ill-born glance.

All I can ever ask of you
is be mindful of how small I am.
It doesn’t take much to derail me.
The journey is so long
when no one meets you in the middle
and the weight of being
the bigger person
acts more like ball and chain.

The only advice I receive
is that people just don’t care
but why does that mean
I have to give myself up for them?
Forgive me if I choose to hide
in the moments you make it hard.
My retreat will be as temporary
as your insensitivity, I pray.

Oklahoma June Twenty-Three

The King stood up
from his throne…
his people cheered
when he mocked the peons.

His words
spilled out over the hordes
                 spraying them with a deadly mist of lies.

They cheered his insanity and
waved flags of ignorance then
went home to die.

The king prayed for them
with his upside-down bible and
                  mocked the soothsayers.

He will reign down on the world and
leave us with nothing but…

Who knows?

Tony Sexton

toes
gifted with grip–
innocent, dirtied bare feet
with tiny scrapes
climb the rough, oak bark
i feel Your presence
with my soles firm to
the soft, damp soil
from the sky’s weeping

knees
my shorts ride up
when i kneel to the ground
my body solid on
the sun-heated rock
something about this
is so childlike and vulnerable
as i bow down to You

waist
bending and folding
with sacred, gifted pleasure
Your name is said in whispers
like a secret
as my every movement
gives praise, glory, and beauty

fingers
where me and my lover
kiss so delicately
i offer rejoice to You
through my words
and my loving
and the way i touch
the pedals and the rain

lips
the numbness of Your touch
lingers like a storm
in the way i find rain
coating every surface like dew
all power is held
in this silence
and with it
peace finally
settles into my bones

For Me

Dearest LORD
Nothing is as deep as You
All of our knowledge, all of our power, all of our wisdom
All is surface
But you
You are my depth
My life, my soul
You are my heart, you see in me
And you see through me
Past my hurt, past my anger
Past that veil that keeps me from you at times
And that You tore for me that I am,
That I may know You always.

You rent those curtains
With all the might God gave You
You smote the demons – though it wasn’t You,
But in Your submission.
It was You Yourself Father
You rent the curtains
With all the strength You could muster and beyond
And they fall like lumps of clay
Or brittle twigs snapping in a breeze
Your meekness and submission did it
Your sensitivity, Your love did it…
For me…
For us….

issues
like stained rags with holes
you can’t throw away
everyone has at least one    

Fungus
Dead Man fingers creep
out of forests’ rotten woods
like a man’s digits

let’s re-write the bulletin so all are welcome;
let’s open up past orders
of worship  

we’ve come to the time of service
where decency commands change  

because i picture faces, spaces,
particular places of racism, in stores, on the street.
privilege presents itself in seeing racism in scenes,
not understanding it is the scenery  

my friend prays in a sanctuary of trees,
sings with a choir of song birds,
calls a familiar hello to chattering chipmunks,
feels seen in lush, breathing growth  

a place that is holy to us is often a locus
of stares and distrust for Black friends.
i can only imagine the challenge of seeking God’s peace
under the eye that would call you loiterer
before seeing you as fellow pilgrim.  

racism is setting-turned-character of the american story.
examine complicity—yes, whites have benefitted, even unintentionally.
it’s beyond time for intentional change, for futures to be re-written
before they repeat the past.  

our service must let live,
let flourish the holiness of others.

I tried so hard to be a girl,
Who didn’t burn the letters
Who didn’t smash the glass
Who learned to love better
Who behaved herself with class

Who clutched machine pressed coins
Who clutched an outstreched hand
Who clung to soft gold memories
Who fanned orange dying embers.

I burned into a woman fast,
Who grew tired of pretty burdens
Who grew quick to cut the fat
Who forced her nerves to deaden
Who required no eclat

Who boiled over, burning steam
Who boiled bones upon a stove
Who tore open life at the seam
Who lived a wild tale she wove.

Well, 
I ‘put my dog down.’
I ‘put him to sleep.’
I ‘put him out of his misery.’
I ‘showed him mercy.’
I ‘did the right thing.’

He was 17 and suffering. 

But I just can’t get past the fact that
I killed my dog.  

I don’t think I ever will. 

When did glass half full
turn into glass almost gone
for this optimist?