NUMB

Numb

1

I seek the numbness of an absent will

a conquest of soul that empties and stills

I seek the comfort of a warm blanket against a chill

a rain that sweeps the avenue clean

a rain that awakens me from a pleasant dream

a dwelling reduced to my own name

where myself and wife become one the same

a place where geography and anatomy

create my esteem and autonomy

2

I seek the things of the holy race

absolved of color and construct trace

some other things that capture my fancy

things of the heart but not to envy...

fog in the morning and feeding birds

children waiting on the corner

for their school-bus to turn

reconciliation with a long ago foe

time and conversation with a friend I know

a spontaneous meeting in a grocery store

of someone from my past who left open a door

a bookmarked page that I read slow

fresh cut grass between my toes

a foggy morning then afternoon snow

a yellow rose on a gray marble stone

comfort for those who mourn alone

the openness atop a sunlit hill

the smell of cedar from a chest of drawers

reminding me of a day I lost a toy

a tub of warm water and a cotton cloth

a spring in summer where I might wash

my cuddled grandchild and her sleepy hug

the nothingness and calm of solitude

where no look can bracket my being

where all past failures just memories sleeping

3

The winter wind cures

the woolen texture of my scarf

as I turn my cheek to protect myself

prompting me to try to prove

before my toes and fingers froze

the value of holy imagination

that takes me beyond my situation

experience becomes out of focus

knowledge simply comic book fiction

they are veils, shrouds, and curtains

preventing communal observation

no one speaks if I don't hear

the greater the distance, the more we fear

as we tire over time from the faults we bear

never confessing the weight to proud to share

Repose

Where's mother? Is she home?

Shall I spend two minutes on the telephone?

Or stop to raid her pantry boxes?

I can't reach her... yet she's so near

for I am who my mother was

even though she lived by my father's cause

she a daughter of the pariah guild

her mother and father by union soiled

one by Calvin and one by Peter

one as water and one as oil

and did they know?

that love alone is not enough

unless it takes us beyond ourselves

I simply was an accessory

misplaced while in a hurry

my share of love, their comisery

4

water, mirrors, steps and stairs

these a child finds so curious

so unforgiving when I entered there

but what a pleasure to tempt or dare

until voices rose and I was scared

the bloody noses, the cuts and bruises

There will always be thorns

amongst the roses

they still haunt me in my sleep

the grassy field, the poplar trees

the hedgerow with its prickly weeds

my soul, I bent and straightened

only the leaves and I in conversation

5

I notice on my morning walk

as my body connects earth to sky

I become a broker of the eternal why

my soul overheats, I open the scarf

the hair on my arm lifts, I rub a spot

my heart misses a beat

I take a breath, secure my feet

pray I have not disturbed the peace

the scent of wet pine and spruce

drifts across the step I took

the sun's caress on my cheek

the cramp in the muscle of my leg

these are moments that memory erases

and why we miss God in so many places

I wonder if He's burdened by my pace

I trail behind so many in the salvation race

6

I bracket, enclose, capture motion

patch all the images together

as if mending an opening seam

that although to the wind was open

so well hidden it was unseen

by me but not by others

yes, I felt the breeze, there's no denying

that all those who came to care for me

so blind they were they refused to see

for fear in them to admit to we

for fear in me to simply be

that may be the greatest sin

to feign one's love as charity

7

I set aside all the metaphorical

all interpretation, all the satirical

all the critical literature

all that taxed my Being

my soul, my reasoning

all that was once so literal

for being so utterly, petty particular...

I set it all aside

I cup my hands over my eyes

and try my very, very best not to cry

And even though tears are a gift from God

I wonder when... and when it will...

when the well will ever dry?