Who is This Man?

Who is this Man?
I have seen a shadow in the twilight,
heard whispers in my mind
that He is Abba, and
I am loved, and my name
is etched in His hands −
whoever He is.
 
But is not “tender father”
an oxymoron of the cruelest sort?
I am unloved, am I not?
This Man
(whoever He is)
can have no room for me.
 
No one has room.
 
Jacob and I share
a rock for a pillow.
We both are wanderers
trespassers.
Nothing more.
 
This Man must be just
a kind stranger,
an attractive dream −
that is all.
 
But what if
the shadows, and
the whispers
have a substance?
What if this dream has
a body?
 
Then He would be
real  −
this Man, whoever
He is.

Colors

i am grey
and i am blue
like the stormy atlantic.
 
we are good friends
you know.
 
i used to wear
a tie dye shirt and
lime green crocs.
 
because grey is sad,
you know,
and so is blue.
and that’s “not ok.”
 
i try to follow
the costume dress code
that everyone
seems to have just
right.
 
but colors get
muddled and smeared
and turned back
to grey.
 
rainbows are a mystery -
that much i know.
 
but the atlantic and i,
we seem to match just fine.

Fool

Oh the irony in my own voice that I discovered in writing this one… God is so amazing as He patiently waits for us even to begin to consider a perspective differing from our own human understanding. 

So −
You want me to cross this desert.
Ha! Stupid fool.
 
The desert is where dreams
go to die, my bones are still lying
there on the hot sand, scorched
by an unforgiving sun.
Do you not see them?
You fool.
 
I was like you, once
when I was small and
my dreams were not passing mists.
I know better now.
 
There are no teachers so exacting
as starvation and thirst. Do not try
to change my mind, I know
what happens in this desert.
 
And now you claim
to have already crossed this
godforsaken wasteland!
Crazy man.
 
What will you try
telling me next? That you can
make my dry bones live?

From the Rock

Water was here. 
By the sculpted
rocks, trees scoured bare,
I know − water was here.
But where laughter once played,
silence has settled.
Where once flowed clear water,
there is dust.
There is no water, here.
Rather, here is the cemetery of a
river, longing
for new Life, waiting 
for Water from the Rock.

Understood

Daddy do you hear me?
No?
Oh, well I understand now.
I am not heard −I will be silent.
I will not speak−
There is nothing worth hearing.
 
Daddy do you see me?
No?
Oh, well I understand now.
I am not seen −I will be invisible.
I will not show my heart −
There is nothing worth seeing.
 
Daddy do you know me?
(We are after all, a part of each other.)
No?
Well don’t worry, I understand now:
I should not hope for
 
a bond that will never form.
This is our life.
You and I shall forever be
the closest of strangers.

Searching

Daddy - can you hear me?
I’ve been listening for you, but
all I hear is thunder.
The thunder is yours, but the rain −

the rain is mine.
Can you feel the rain?
Drenching my soul.
Drowning my heart.
Is there a shore left for us

beyond this ocean, I wonder
daddy - can you see me?
I’ve been looking for you, but it’s dark.
Do you have a lamp to wait for sunrise,
or are there no more sunrises
left?
 
Daddy - are you out there?
All I can see are shadows
in the fog and I would search
for you, but where you are
I have learned not to be.
 
Daddy...
 
Daddy - can you hear me?
because I think -
I have just said good-bye.

Hearts and Arms

Brown hair, blue eyes, shy smile.
We are similar,
but you are the patient,
I am the student nurse.
We cannot be the same.
 
I am saddened by your pain
but strangely −assured.
I am not you, here.
I will ignore the mirror
in your eyes.
 
We talk − I am practicing
therapeutic communication
like a good nurse,
until you pull your sleeves up.
I want to run −but I cannot.
 
If your eyes are mirrors
then your arms are the canvass
of my heart.
Here is the terrifying picture
we cover so well, railroad tracks
 
of wounds and scars
slicing across your arms and up
through my mind, a mute witness
to the pain for which words
have failed us.
 
You are the patient,
I am the student nurse.
We cannot be the same.
But even so, we cannot be
so very different.