Once More (for Dad)

I learn that a friend had twins yesterday,

a year after her mother died.

As I go my way, I smile.

My mind drifts

to a scene

of grass and flowers growing back

at time-lapse speed

over a grave site.

What is mortal

is swallowed up by life.

My own father’s death

is just a few weeks past.

The ground by his headstone

is still broken and churning,

hard clods lay on top

like fists,

and though the dirt was replaced

the hole remains,

a scar in the grass.

But the spring rains will come.

With the whispered hush of their falling

they will wash and settle

the churning ground.

Even the clods will soften

and open.

Underneath,

roots will mend

their torn fabric;

shoots will find their way up

through the broken places,

and flowers will lift their faces to the sun

once more.

Crying in the Wilderness

“Are you the one who was to come,
or should we expect someone else?”

That day by the river—
in front of God and everyone—
I pointed at him
like I was leading the cavalry
and cried out,
“Look!! The Lamb of God
who takes away the sin of the world!”

Later,
as my disciples were leaving by droves
to follow him,
I braced myself,
and explained to one of the few remaining,
“He must increase, and I must decrease.”

I believed it…I believed it…
I believed it so much
it was my undoing.
And because I believed it,
everyone else started believing it.

But now,
the dead air grips my bones
with both hands
and shakes the cage of my ribs.
Now,
the stench of wasting humanity
makes my head spin
like a busted compass.
Now,
in the twilight of my heart,
it’s either him
or me,

and I need to be sure.