Home

I am ritual and routine.

Rush and Rest.

And where you long to run in between.

Your first sip in the morning,

Dozing prayer at night.

Soggy, froggy feedings,

Ethereal, curtain-laced burning sun bowing out low,

And other mind reading in the soothing dark

By slow and swaying flame.

And snore in the dark I do

So you know I'm still here.

I am an ark on Ararat grounded

Ever housing all my rescued hosts.

A symbiotic symphony,

Blessed chaos,

Constant.

Soul of innocence in lamb's eye,

Loyalist of loves,

Alli-tude,

Mobile home,

HOnk, quack, gobble, boom, boom, moo,

Drama, drama, drama!

I am last July's tomatoes in cupboard canned,

Snow peas in summer, squash and

Kumquat jello for Christmas.

Your weekly chronicle told, pinned line by line,

Wind cleansed and sun dried.

I am white Easter bonnets,

Rusty fishing hooks,

Wild lilies and beer cans -

Ecclesiastes on the vine.

Stories swamps, wooden bridges,

Pawpers, printers, and vicious ear drillers,

Miles of sand and clay who've

born your stride and time.

I am projects unfinished

Have mercy, galore!

Nose prints on windows, cat scratches,

Laundry three loads high,

And boot print on the floor.

Where walls keep their secrets

Like oven stone, seasoned with prayer.

Unseen warfare behind every door.

I am a strand of three cords,

Happy HIll gatherings,

Oplatki,

A hug a prayer, a needed catharsis,

A cup of sugar and an egg or two.

The precious, quit comfort

Their thereness affords.

I am the fragrance of bread in the oven,

Paprika, honest sweat, and

Whatever daughter-dog has rolled in.

A rheumatic tractor reminiscing in the shade,

And often it happens

All on wooden table's homegrown and homemade.

I heal but I don't forget

Who loved me, who left me,

Who battered and who cherished me.

I see them still, in memory's timeless eye,

Watercolor misty,

Tearfull,

Bleeding.

Your DNA is in my soul.

Though gone, you live in me still.

Where paper angels in oak tree

Bore witness to yes.

Two stones for two souls remembered

And Snowball's cross vigil keeps

By lonely bench.

I am not an easy keeper -

As inconvenient as love itself.

Rhythmic, moody,

Always needy, but giving generously

Of all I have been given

Due HIm back again.

I am... black and white photos,

Heirlooms, recipes, hope chests,

Old pews,

Ma's quilts, cast iron lamb read mold,

And a hard leather and buckle baby shoe.

I am muddy musings, buckets of tears,

Solace in silo,

Yadah.

And Terd every reveal.

Books overflowing, brushes too long dry,

Images of God on paper penciled

Sporadically through the years,

Imperfect,

Pressing through frustration and fear.

Where Spirit Breath hums harmonica

Through tall, swaying pine,

Angels whisper in long, low, chime.

Elders rock, boys hand on rail,

And how rusts in rain

Left by one fighting frail.

I am where life and death mingle

Rosy and raw.

Where my babes are buried, and

My ashes will scatter... unless,

My Thief in the Night come before.

I am not forever.

I promise not what I cannot keep.

When my dust and your ashes mingle

I'll ever be a part of you,

You apart from me.

For I am shadow, pattern.

He is Truth and Light.

There''ll come your final fight, sacred flight,

There shall faith now mysterious

Finally, be made sight.

But 'till then, Dear Pilgrim,

I am home.