Wednesday, November 20, 2013

I've so very much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Hoping always to be this amazed at my blessings.

This piece hasn't got much to do with this poem
but I just finished it so I thought I'd include it here.

A song is playing behind the clink of glasses.
It plays just under the sizzle 
          of homefries on the griddle
                    and the tinkling of forks and spoons.
It washes over the ones
          lined up for lattes
                    who mutter into cell phones.
It hangs softly 
          more softly than the smell
                    of breakfast grease or toast.

It hangs in the air
Up near the ceiling fan
Where the whirling blades 
          chop and dice its harmonies
                    and its too familiar words.

Once upon a time
          those words were perfection--
They were molten words
          their music already coursing in them.
It was a song born like a child is born--
                    in a glory.
Once upon a time
          this song burst into being
                    as someone's deep night rapture.
It came in a firework
          in a rush and revelation.
A flare breaking high overhead
And raining eerie light.
Pure and potent and startling as a sunset.
As easy to dismiss, over time,
                    with familiarity,
                              as a sunset.

And once upon a desperate time,
         a time of anguish and grieving,
Desperate prayers wrenched
          from the very bones of love,
                    of necessity,
Drew down from the clear blue sky--
When there was need enough,
                    faith enough,
To force heaven's intervention.
To derail fate.
And the awe--
          the surprise of it--
                    the teary marvel of it,
Birthed new eyes.
But time erodes like seawater.
The vivid colors of heaven's fingerprint
                    fade with wear,
The dazzle, the gleam
          tarnish with so much handling.
I suppose there came a day
When even Mary and Martha
          could look at Lazarus
                  eating his breakfast
Without wonder and weeping.

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