An ice cream cone
A dollar unspent
A moment returned
A kiss ungiven
A word unspoken
A moment of peace
A glass of wine
A kind word spoken
A hope fulfilled
One last wish…

The house has gone quiet, suddenly.
It filled like a tidal wave.
Noise came in
filled the home with life,
then it left.
Leaving behind
a tidal pool of trinkets:
a button,
a bell,
a bib.

I miss them already.   My daughter, her husband and two children just left.  What will I do now?  My lap, my eyes, my ears and my heart feels so empty.

I was scared but Christ came by
Hanging photos of fragments
this taker of photos knows the camera won’t lie
He sees what he sees and is quiet inside

Hanging photos of fragments
a testament of truth
He sees what he sees and is quiet inside
The beauty he’s found a delight all his own

A testament of truth
This taker of photos knows the camera won’t lie
The beauty he’s found a delight all his own
I was scared but Christ came by

I went to a bar and had a glass of wine and watched the people around me, and was fascinated by a young man hanging some of his photographs.  His artwork drew me in and it made me wonder about his story.

The migrant farm, all grey with weathered wood.
poverty shuttled, awkward and away,
keeping distance between me and the other

The housing is hidden, migrants unseen.
Their clothes are thin and worn, dirty and torn
They pick in the heat, the rain and the mud.

How sheltered we are, how pretty our hands.
All calloused, and bruised, and burnt are theirs.
They pick the melons, and apples and peas.

They kill the chickens, the beef and the hogs
doing the jobs that repel us the most,
Then move along in broken down wagons.
Our conscience untapped, and our plates so full.