you stand
with your hand
on the doorknob
on the doorknob
or float
into a conference room
or leave
for vacation
wondering what you’ve left behind
vague sense of dread
vain struggle to remember
what might be forgotten
he stands
on a bright day
in the midst of a nice week
in an otherwise happy life
overwhelmed
with the memory of a son
in the midst of a nice week
in an otherwise happy life
overwhelmed
with the memory of a son
undercurrent, undermining
sparked
by nothing in particular
careening
by nothing in particular
careening
off unrelated events
a quilt
old photos
a city block
a glossy hospital looming
over a parking lot
an infant with bright eyes
the warm home of friends
weight pressing down
presence all around
presence all around
warmth and cold
swirling through soul
swirling through soul
holding vigil, even still
Posted in:
May I be present here too?
As a friend I want to embrace. You.
I know your pain is so real.
For this lifetime we will walk as friends.
We will feel this pain until we grow old and die.
In the midst of this reality, we hold onto the resurrection.
On your face and in your words I see the face of God. (minus that facial crap of course)