On a Saturday morning in early 2012, I had been reading Matthew and John 13, and then went to Isaiah. I left with these thoughts in my poetry.
I was startled today at the many voices in the text–
so many accents, so many tones under the words–and
Then there was one voice, a unity, one trinity.
We came back from the dessert, refreshed, and in the dim pre-dawn,
A light has risen again!
I turn to God early this morning–once again! Thank you.
Near the kingdom, already past midnight, already past deep sleep,
the oil was gone, some lamps now dry.
Awake, what day is it? What hour?
We do not know, and we learn to lose caring.
We are here for the suffering, the lonely.
Barbara called me one day before and I forgot her.
We care for her now.
Maria-Anne heard my voice this week, and forgot me at once.
We find her and lift her up.
We care for her.
We left some too long alone in hospitals.
We care, even when we forget, and return late at night,
Early in the day.
The rough voice, the smooth words, the academic words, the lawyer words,
The words blend to one this morning.
We care for the weak, the prisoners of life, the prisoners of selves,
And we lift the cross as best we can.
At what hour? Who cares?
Beneath the cross, we care for ones we left years ago.
We return and we care.