The sight of Him
was salt in open wounds
but she held His gaze
as fixedly and tenderly
as when she had laid His
infant body to her breast.
His pain almost
drowned her in its depths
and when its darkness
would have pulled her in,
her fingers bit into
the skin of John's arm
that she might pull herself
upright again.
His breath strangled
in His throat and she choked.
His wounds wept red tears
and her staring eyes streamed.
He spoke to her just once, then pulled
against the nails. Crying out,
He exhaled and sagged upon the wood.
She felt Him plunge into her heart,
sharp as the sword
old Simeon had promised.
Holding Him at last,
His head cradled in her arms,
she watched John gently pull away
the hideous crown. Bending over her son,
she touched the places where the thorns had pierced Him. Her many kisses could not warm His skin and though
she tried to think of Him as He had been,
memory quailed before the sleeping face
that death had closed to her.
She who had borne Him without pain,
ravaged by this second birthing,
in her abject loneliness became
mother of us all,
mother of our many sorrows,
none, ah none, like hers.
smb
This morning
the blind man stands
on the corner
his shirt October blue
his broom handles
butter yellow. Colors
he has never seen or long
forgotten make me wonder
to what colors I am blind,
I've often
passed that corner
not expecting
insight from a sightless man,
who, unknowing, gives direction,
never knowing that he can.
I wonder if there may be others
looking on infirmities of mine,
question their own mysteries
one more time.
If so, then In those moments
we give gifts beyond our giving,
silver birds from empty rooms,
that wheel unseen above us
while we stand, like the blind man,
selling our brooms.
smb
SOME PEOPLE GO FROM PLACE TO PLACE
TASK TO TASK, FACE TO FACE,
AND GATHER ENERGY. I DON'T.
I HAVE TO STOP OFTEN
AND LOOK INTENTLY
AT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR
AND REALLY SEE IT.
I WALK THE STRETCHES
OF AN INNER BEACH
KICKING UP THOUGHTS
LIKE GRAINS OF SAND,
LOST IN PRAYER,
IN MEMORIES
OF PEOPLE AND PLACES
I HAVE LOVED,
WANDERING MYSTERIES,
MOUTHING
SNATCHES OF POETRY
AND DREAMING.
UNDERSTAND, LOVE,
THE TINNITUS OF MY DAYS,
FOLLOWS ME EVERYWHERE.
WHEN IT DEAFENS ME I GO
INTO THE QUIET,
UNABLE TO RESIST
THE SILENT MUSIC
PLAYING
THERE.
smb