Poetry

 

your tracks

today i stood in your tracks
the last place your eyes 
looked at this land you’ve loved
since you were three

i wonder what you felt
what you thought
what moved through
your soul as life
crumbled

did you think of what
was left undone 
or unsaid 
or unloved

did some part of you
breathe deeply of it all
with gratitude and peace

because you knew something
we don’t all know

this life is a gift 
and you lived it as such 

today i stood in your tracks 
soaking the melting snow
with my tears
anger
pain
sorrow 

and i felt your love
like a light breeze
surround my ache
once again loving me
back to life 

you don’t have to brush away the tears

we see you 
having a moment of sadness
that feels as if it will never end

someone enters your bubble of grief
and you reach to wipe away your tears
as if your sadness will offend
frighten
disrupt
the heart of this intruder

we lament the generations of conditioning
that hiss and shame you 
into reaching for your cheek 

what if

we did this differently 

what if you didn’t brush away your tears 

what if they continued to roll
telling the story of love lost
presence denied
a breaking heart

what if the tears we didn’t wipe away
served our own healing
and the healing of the one who bears witness

maybe we all need to learn 
how to sit with one 
who doesn’t brush away the tears

 

fierce joy

cynicism disguises itself as indifference
it’s not

cynicism
anger 
distrust
discomfort
hangs in the air

it hisses at the edges

cynicism is a spoken and unspoken narrative
it’s full of all the things said and unsaid

it’s frantic to find a mine to fill
a heart to harden
a body to infect

fierce joy is the antidote
joy looks at the cynicism
anger
distrust
discomfort

and feels it all
no denial or distraction

joy sees and feels it all

and gets to the other side
to the lightness
to the smile
to the spaciousness
to the freedom

may we never give into a life of cynicism 
when we were made for fierce joy

rain and tears

it’s beautiful
to cry in the rain

the water
flows
intermingles 
becomes one

a morning walk
becomes a
baptism 

 
 
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