Courage

She opens a book
lifts a trembling hand
and breathes...
(because she believes)

a prayer within
her sigh
a note
a chord

We praise our Lord
following the movements
of her hand
in lullaby, in anthem
and in hymn

Led by her
who is led
by Him.

The Storm

(On coming Back)

After the laughter of afternoon sun–
After the bluest, clearest sky–
Breathless–

In the interim

a quivering, shimmering sigh
snatched from the lung by a thieving gust,
gruff and rumble,
roil and blust,
sucking at air,
spitting out soil,
trampling,
flinging,
taking spoil,
chasing itself narcissistically on,
howling a raucous, virulent song

Then,
opens Heaven,
her powerful wings
dropping elixir of crystalline rain
to the beat of tympanic thunderings.

Taking a deep breath now and then,
whispering the furies to calm again,
slowing the breathing, quieting the din,

As the Sun’s rays stream down,
peace within.

July 25, 2002

Bereft

As this mother’s heart breaks,
Heaven aches with the weight
of hurts and words
that permeate

the heavy air, the heavy heart --
both heaving at the leaving
of the offspring grown apart.

Falls the tears and
falls the rain --
both of us weeping with the pain,

wondering if we'll feel peace again,
we grieve.

Because we believe,
Heaven wails in
empathetic storm.

We're grateful for prayers,
both uttered and answered,
that find us here now

safe and warm.

Fall 2002

Casualties

I am not the one
who lit the torches,
struck the first punch,

drafted forces...

I did not desert
to enemy ranks:
or shout out orders
to camouflaged flanks...

As your blitzkrieg drowned out voices
of innocents, children;
obliterating choices...

I locked the doors,
reinforced casements ,
gathered the victims
from shell-shocked basements...

When the deed was done,
I mucked out chambers,
bandaged scarred hearts,
banished the strangers

I still bear the scars...
Still hear the voices...
Still mourn the losses...
Still mourn the choices...

I gather the pieces
with no bandage or glue
to help me restore
what was torn apart
by you...

Keepers of the Light

She stands alone
In the quiet of the lighthouse
Silently searching
The surface of the sea.

She watches for those ships
Who may have lost their way
In the dark fog.
She shines her light
And lets them see their way home.

She doesn’t ask how or why they strayed.
She only knows they did,
And her job is
The keeper of the light.

She does it well.

One can never tell
When it will be we
Who are called to be
Keepers of the light—
Not to speak, or to steer,
Simply to watch,
Then share our light
And welcome the ships home.