Fisher

I came
to the riverside,
cool can of worms
undercover beside me
fleshy squirming warm
invitations to bite, but
the fish were eating
dragonflies, emerald
hovering, jeweled;
could not be fooled
by a hunger which
was mine alone,
gnawing inside.


Sometimes I write things with my eyes half open. That's how this went. And when I woke, really looked, I saw You in every line, my Fisher-of-Humankind, my Love. I thought of how You came to the Jordan amidst the crowds that day. I thought of "Take, eat, this is my body" and "the Word became flesh." I remembered the prophet Hosea, how his life was an expression of You, pining after us, hungry for us, ever hungry with an everlasting love. I closed my eyes with the thought of all this, in thanks for yet another surprise from words written without intent.

Homecoming

From birth, long months
you had lain triple broken
hearted, needle pricked,
wired, ravaged by fire

of fever and untold pain. Still.
Just yesterday you quietly came,
a blue cloud of promise o'er rise
of hill— late summer rain.


Thank you, Lord, for keeping my niece Summer Rain, through heart surgeries and suffering and danger and for bringing her home to arms of love.

Street Corner Writer

Thank You for this, just when I was feeling foolish as a writer. Just when I was having a hard time of it, feeling misunderstood. Sometimes writing about You is no fun. People think... well, they doubt my intellect, You know?

Thank You for reminding me what it is to be a street corner writer. What it is to be truly wise.

Give me a dress of silver and gold. A dress and a megaphone. Let me sashay right through traffic, ignoring the beeps and the jeers. Let me speak through the smog. Send a breeze to ruffle my hair, let the curls shine. Shine like the words You give me in my dreams, in quiet places. The words you give me to take like jewels...

...to the street corner.

Postlude to a Prayer

So I dream. And it is You, calling me through shadows, down winding hallways into prayer.

I lie down, breathless, tired. I let go.

And, at least for one whose name I whisper in your ear, You answer with a dream. The postlude to a prayer.

Grace Falls

I walk into the dark, the cold. Breathe deeply of the crisp air.

The hemlocks are frosted, tipped in softness...snow. My heart bends with them, in thanksgiving. For Your grace.

Grace.

Falls.

Gently.

Upon my soul.

Smooths the edges of days past, of a childhood lost.

Grace.

Falls.

Gently.

Upon my soul.

Black Mama God

What can I say, Lord? I see you everywhere. Why, just yesterday, you met me in the library. What a vision you were. It wasn't really you, of course, I know that. And yet...

A big-hipped woman, dark and lovely of skin like the Shulamite. Fleshy, abundant. Smiling. White teeth, thick and strong, made a showing between full, pomegranate lipsticked lips. Smiling. Printing my list of fines. A long list, I admit. Too many forgotten moments when renewals slipped past my vigilance. Smiling. "You're forgave."

My daughter looking up at me. "What? What does she mean?"

"I'm forgiven. See all this? A long list of fines. She let me go. Let me off."

I'm forgave. Forgiven. And you reminded me of this, my black mama God, smiling through some woman in the library. Some woman who printed the long list of my neglect. Printed what I owed. Then threw it all away.