Friday, February 9, 2007

The five o'clock birds have come again
to visit in the holly bush outside my window.

I am at peace to watch them grow their feathers out against the cold
to hear them talk their talk in tones and whistles;

to remember that all my anxious lists,
fretting breaths, fervent dreams
can stand behind me for a while.

I shake my hands away from doing;
away from conversation and demand
and lay them in my lap as I wonder in awe and worship in rest.

Mary's Last Dance

Today in sunshine through stained glass
I listened.
I watched Robert Earle--the man who crossed the room for Mary.
I watched him say goodbye to her, and I have to wonder.

I have to wonder what will be when I'm in a
shiny casket. How far will my life stretch out?
I dreamed my death last night--or some version of it.
It was a warmth that spread from my middle out to the ends.

Then between Nesbit and Bridgeforth
I was befriended by endurance
to pick up the pieces of my last impatience;
to reconstruct with slow prayer what I have torn down in haste.

Bless this day of Mary's last dance, last song.
Bless the Delta and my mother who escaped.
Bless the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--through Sumner and Tutwiler,
past Clarksdale on the by-pass and back up to Walls.