Young men stamping; clouds of dust their feet
Stir up; the gleaming weapons and the heat –
the women, poised and fearful, gazing down
as the squadron marches out of town
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
As we go marching, marching
We battle too for men
For they are women’s children
And we mother them again
This time, I have left my body behind me, crying
In its dark thorns.
You see them there
their arms weary with
holding the guns
withholding their fire
You see them in the light
We need spiritual warriors willing to do the hard, heartbreaking work of becoming the light; capable of walking through the valley of the death of their old life and finding their way out.
Someone, give us the strength
to survive this particular onslaught
of cell-death and other indignities
God passed away empty handed
But with regret
And like a sly boy
Broke with his shoe
the last dry loaf of bread.
Last night, while I was at the piano,
my landlady pounded the butt end of a rusty musket
against my chamber door.
To all appearances, she hates my sonata.
we were the daughters
of the witches
who could set fire to skeletons
Our Father who art in me
You are the One I love
The One who hurt me
The One who seeks the truth
Let all the Good Samaritans of the earth come forth in such numbers as to overwhelm the wickedness of the Trump administration with a love of God and neighbor so great that all manner of goodness shall prevail.
Honestly, sometimes, I envy the dead, Those dearly departed, whose exits, however peaceful or wrenching, Were always underwritten by the knowledge that Life endures, and that Hope of Eternal Life . … Continue reading →