FACES

Photographs from over a hundred years ago—
a fortitude in the faces,
they see more than
themselves in everything.

Faces of today—
a sea of lonely, broken lives.

(November 12, 2009)

AUTUMN DAY

A hot plate of food
and laughter around the table,
all that’s gone now.

We sweat and tilled the soft earth,
but we live so far from it now.

The front door is always unlocked,
I hope I make it across the border.

There’s the lady in the rocking chair,
fireflies are all around us.

I’m still coming to terms with that one night—
it’s my punishment because God loves me.

There are some buried treasures
even we can’t ever find.

I wipe tears from my eyes—
one beautiful day we will see…

The face or voice of a friend
will give us that glimpse
of what liberty once was.

(October 25, 2009)

THROUGH THE HEARTLAND

We waited for good news to come from
down the road, somehow we knew
what was coming was good. But fidelity
to the wrong god changed everything.
Closing our eyes to the sky, it didn’t take long.

Each breath is different now.
I could only understand my own blindness
through someone else’s turmoil. Quite how
my silence contaminated everything,
I can’t decide.

We have our house and rhododendrons,
bellies full of warm food and our bed.
We have our means, but there’s a feeling
that won’t leave me alone.

Everybody has their mile—
windmills and sunflowers, shutting down
a machine that has lasted for generations,
our lives will not be the same.
There are only glimpses, murmurs on the wind—
sometimes the mile is so long.

I paused on the side of that road; I could just
continue along all the way to the far edge,
and to try to be of good heart.

(October 2009)

WORDS FROM THE RUBBLE

Early in the morning and late at night,
all the years past and all those to come
are breaking waves
on some distant shore.
Hard to believe
something still holds us together—
on a Sunday when the sky was gray.

On this street, remnants of a lost generation—
life is still there,
in echoes and groans,
but what is there to show for it?
All gone now—
old life blown away in the blink of an eye,
nothing left but to think about it.

Solitude and partnership, words from
underneath the rubble,
we’ll never find them
pining for nostalgia.
There is hope, great hope for the future—
I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand.

My own body becomes
a meaningless ghost in the world,
sent on its way—
on a Sunday when the sky ways gray.

(October 1, 2009)

I AM WITNESS

A group of Nazis mourn the loss
of some fallen in a torch-lit synagogue,
a Jewish man weeps for a lost Arab
in a candlelit mosque and embraces me—
one more lifetime swallowed up.
I am witness to things beyond my control.

I am reunited with a friend for lunch
in a crowded cafeteria,
I watch the birth of my first child
without seeing the face of the mother—
take me back to where I came from.
I am witness to things beyond my understanding.

(September 21, 2009)

REFLECTIONS ON SEPTEMBER 11TH

I laid my head down on a fall afternoon,
there is little for me to mourn anymore.
Those years are waves crashing
on some distant shore, a foreign land.
I gazed so long into the peaceful blue sky,
it seemed like I wasn’t here anymore.
There is something different
to be remembered. Mine is a passive thought
for others, but late at night on the TV,
the emotions on peoples’ faces are still raw,
the bell still ringing.

(September 12, 2009)

INSIDE OF ME

If I were burned
on a pyre, I would want my ashes
to be spread on the water.
The way of truth and love always wins,
but slowly and painfully.
The tyrant, the oppressor, the sinner,
the criminal—they are all most visible
in my own eye, even in my
greatest devotion.
We are our own last best hope
for peace in this life.

(June 20, 2009)