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 insideHanging 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 ownA 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.
A welcome prayer,
I’ve never heard.
How do you welcome
a mystery?
Something
all muddled
and hidden?Why open the door
at the ground floor?
If it rains, it will flood
and someone may come
and find it unclosed.
SomeOne may come
and find me exposedWhy do we start here,
at this new prayer?
To help me heal,
to see and to feel?
To let go
To let go
To let go
of what I hold so near.
I’d rather start by a different track.The why seems unimportant
It is the sinking I find hard,
but I open a crack…
and find the flood.
I knew it had rained.
So there’s no going back.
So unbolt,
uncover,
unfold,
breathe,
stretch,
reach.
SomeOne will come.
SomeOne is here.
Step over it.
Step across.
Find a rock,
a bridge,
a log
on which to balance,
but step over
untouched.Traverse the fault
without a fall,
without sinking low.
Find the bridge,
find the rope.But, step over it.
Step over yourself,
don’t fall.
Step over
the fault.
We are invited to dance across the river that would sweep us away when we are rejected, disrespected or hurt. We are invited to forgive and find stones on which to stand as we traverse the fault.
Open Ears 