viewingcamelot

Your guitar was my central nervous system-
Strumming, strumming,
Everything I loved and hated:
Family, and home, and torture.
Who will weep for your innocence?
The tender boy with chestnut hair,
The soft soul and kind eyes-
The boy abused
Twisted, crying out in terminal distress-
How many years?
How many deaths?
And all your songs undone,
Unheard, and unsung.
My ears rang when the news called,
So many miles to stand
Alone beside your bed,
Your heart emptied
You scrutinized the space
Many miles from there.
I held your blood-drenched fingertips:
It was the closest I could get.
My ears have been ringing since.
It wasn’t even illness then-
Suicide:
The pinnacle of soulless reason-
It was supply and demand.
What words belong within this realm?
Nothing ever scrubbed those hands-
You’ve punished us for interfering
A never-ending ransom,
Meet your demands, or you’ll kill the hostage:
That floppy-haired boy
who loved us.

You’ve punished us for living,
For treating life like it was anything
We had any right to do.
And I’m not mad at you-
God as my witness
I forgive you all this and more
Only live, damn you, live!
Release your fists and allow
The mists of time, and kindness,
And even God
To finally wash them clean.

Should I endeavor such a difficult labor
As writing of my delights?
Children’s smiling, sleepy faces
Curled up in the night
As I read to them in open wonder
Hanging on every breath:
My joy beyond all bounds,
Gratitude beyond all depths
Or persevering through frustration,
Teaching through tight contention,
Until the surge of glee as
Confusion dissolves into comprehension.
Or of watching my husband,
The soul of my soul,
In the prime of his integrity,
His dignity intact, whole-
His spine reinforced
By the character of his loyalty
The measure of his sum
Equal to any royalty
And he stands in broad shoulders,
The regal strength of his arms
Cradles our wee ones
Past all their alarms.
We laugh through storms,
Elated by our company.
Our home exists in love,
Abundant joy, and harmony.

And whatever disparity
Birthed my days,
Whatever I process
In verbose waves,
None of it lives here;
I was cast away,
And now I live in a world of delights
Far removed from yesterday’s casualties.

Whether a soul is birthed
Or forged
Who can say?

Yet between those prosaic amblers,
Those who gambol through the race,
Always remarking in kind,
“What a lovely day,”
And “The early bird gets his worm,”
For whom their IRAs,
Their endgame plans,
Stretch no farther in imagination
Than the angle of repose.
Of those I have very little to say…

But the others between
As one out of pace,
Out of country, out of tune-
Who burn like furnaces
Churning their influences
Into solid states-
Whose collars smell
Of woodsmoke, of bootblacking and waste
No open air or sea
Who taste of sap,
Of antiquity and ideas-

Of these
I am gripped by sudden
Recognition, a filial fealty,
And the aching awareness
Of the vast impermanence
Of all things.

Father, remove Your displeasure-
I will follow as You lead,
But I must see the measures
As I am given need-
Do not count against my offspring
The frailties of my heart-
Nor let my pungent offerings
Cause Your Spirit to depart-
I am dust.
Born of dust, struggling the same
To learn the mysteries of trust,
Or the power in Your name-
Remember my frame and constitution.
I shall not linger long,
Even in remonstrance and restitution,
I’m a flitting, failing song.
Man has caused me many fears,
Bruised flesh and crimes against my core,
But I am still here,
And my greatest fear is Yours.
Who are we, and what are we,
To mingle our intrinsic fault
In Your dynamic activity-
When what remains is to exalt-

Only never leave me alone-
My soul is still crippled
From the mold in which I’ve grown-
Cruelty shaping in ripples-
I am tired, decades in,
Struggling to reconcile
The powerful, holy cadence
Indwelling our squirming bile
And this vile mass of flesh,
Of which I am full member
Begs to be refreshed,
Redeemed, remembered-

In my mother’s blood, in my sin,
You died for me.
Deal in kindness once again,
Gently set me free

So I may see,
With no misgivings,
Your goodness here
In the land of the living.

I cannot be sure,
But tonight may be the night I quit.
I don’t think I’m even being obedient anymore,
Just obstinate.
Maybe I deceived myself before;
Maybe now I’m throwing a despondent fit:
Both can be equally ignored.

I cannot do it alone-
And why would I without You in it?
Yet for a moment between groans
Hope was upward-winded
But not yet flown
More than tongues and tenets-
Standing in flesh, and feather, and bone-

And I believed.