Adam
When I think of you
a smile graces
my lips,
but tears
often
fall.
The day begins, neon tangerinepink sun
rising over big water. The kid loses her last baby tooth.
It is so big and so small in her hand. She tongues
the bloody gap. The street is COVID and Juneteenth,
Black Lives Matter and Pride. This bridge is tear gas
and rainbows, raised fists and people admitting
they didn’t know. The light is full on. I hear her
upstairs, clacking away with her practice butterfly knife.
Like so many,
she decided to bake bread.
A forgotten skill
from her hippie days
when beer and bread
were the only necessities.
She found her old cookbook,
it opened up to so many memories
as grease-stained and ragged
as its pages.
She knew the kneading
was what she needed now,
the dough a glistening ball
so active and alive.
there’s a silly little line
on my stupid silver lip.
serenading sirens, their
serrated screams slip-
seeking out stranger stars
because the saviors are asleep.
after feckless bones
disappear in dust
I’ll stare down
from a distant star
at the empty plain
and marvel at things
that made me jealous
Today, June 20, 2020 of the Gregorian calendar
our Summer Solstice
the day which marks the longest daylight day
of the year in the Northern Hemisphere as a result
of maximum tilt and positioning of Earth’s axis
relative to our closest largest star, the Sun
giving Alaska in the USA boasting rights for most daylighted hours
Today also marks the first day of any summer in my lifetime
met with a scary pandemic, utterly disheartening civil unrest,
and dangerous political firestorms–
a life-sucking miasma of consequences and questions
an astronomical summer start to be sure
but the sunshine this first day
is the thing of hope which warms
my face and greets my heart with
grand possibilities for answers
life-giving opportunities to prevail
if we only rise to the challenges and
step out of the shadows–
perpetual summer solstice
I don’t plan to binge-watch “Quincy.”
I’m not going to a support group for scrapbooking addicts.
I will avoid croquet games with people who are stoned.
I don’t see any value in learning FORTRAN.
I don’t plan to sell unmatched socks on eBay.
I’m not going to appear on “Naked and Afraid.”
I will avoid Satanic Zoom meetings.
I don’t see any value in near-beer yoga.
I don’t plan to hang glide in the nude.
I’m not going hang gliding fully clothed, at least not in sub-zero weather.
I will avoid any group tours that feature hang gliding, either in the nude or in sub-zero weather.
I don’t see any value in preparing for hang gliding, since I’m never doing it–unless there’s beer involved. . . No, not even then.
I guess I don’t really have a life, do I?
Letters out and I hope they find
a heart that’s learned to accept some grace.
No one wanted to see you crash like this.
You might have gotten yourself stuck
in the mire of anxiety and never healing wounds
but it doesn’t mean we’re going to leave you lost.
It’s just, what can be done when the broken
has fallen in love with the space between their shards
with all the shadows they offer for hiding?
One can only get to know you so far
before they go walking off an edge
and people get tired of getting dropped,
they get tired of wasting energy,
get tired of unintended rejection
tired of zero meaningful reciprocation.
We become our own implosions
not because we choose implosion, but rather
it’s the logical end to too much self-reliance.
Humanity is meant for community.
Some mountains are too tall to climb alone
and many only know God through the kindness of others.
These letters that will soon meet your eyes
are our hands trying to help you rise
from mire to mountaintop.
We do this for the simple fact
that God never gives up on His children,
so who are we, even exhausted, to do any different?
along the road’s banks
in tall grass, slender thistles
startling pinks bloom.
