so many songs
forming dust devils
tumbling across the room, a
graveyard of your broken promises
i stand here holding the broom

a seal of love

over the past 3 years since my departure from organized religion i have become
absolutely
fascinated
by seeing God in the tiny,
most obscure
seemingly irrelevant places.

like e. says, God wedges herself into the dusty cracks of our souls [and lives].

and so i wrote a letter, to a ros[i]e,
whom by any other skin color name would smell as sweet
and not be on death row

but where the system fails
love conquers
by creeping into the tiny,
most obscure,
seemingly irrelevant place.

twenty years on death row,
and a stamp reached her heart.

and so i write back,
eager to see where love sprouts,
like the grass in the cracks on the sidewalk
like the rays of sun behind the thunder clouds
like the extra stamp in a letter to a child of god
like the letter that landed on a sterile office desk

signed, sealed, delivered.

in one of the most beautiful cities on earth
twenty-two floors above reality
surrounded by luxury
still broken

the gospel according to runaway bunny

once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
so he said to his mother,
i am running away.

if you run away,
said his mother,
i will run after you.
for you are my little bunny.

if you run after me,
said the little bunny,
i will become a fish in a trout stream
and i will swim away from you

if you become a fish in a trout stream,
said his mother,
i will become a fisherman
and i will fish for you

if you become a fisherman,
said the little bunny,
i will become a rock on the mountain,
high above you

if you become a rock on the mountain high above me,
said his mother,
i will be a mountain climber,
and i will climb to where you are

if you become a mountain climber,
said the little bunny,
i will be a crocus in a hidden garden

if you become a crocus in a hidden garden,
said his mother,
i will be a gardener,
and i will find you.

if you are a gardener and find me,
said the little bunny,
i will be a bird
and fly away from you

if you become a bird and fly away from me,
said his mother,
i will be a tree that you come home to

if you become a tree,
said the little bunny,
i will become a little sailboat,
and i will sail away from you

if you become a sailboat and sail away from me,
said his mother,
i will become the wind,
and blow you where i want you to go

if you become the wind and blow me,
said the little bunny,
i will join a circus
and fly away on a flying trapeze

if you go flying on a flying trapeze,
said his mother,
i will be a tightrope walker,
and i will walk across the air to you

if you become a tightrope walker and walk across the air,
said the bunny,
i will become a little boy
and run into a house

if you become a little boy and run into a house,
said the mother bunny,
i will become your mother
and catch you in my arms and hug you

shucks,
said the bunny,
i might just as well stay where i am
and be your little bunny

and so he did.
have a carrot,
said the mother bunny

awake

I let both the sun and the spider crawl across my body

One makes me dance, the other, lie still

Both are my teacher

I stare both at the horizon and the fog

One fills me with hope, the other, pain

Both are my teacher

I run both to and from God

One yields healing, the other, scars

Both are my teacher

And so I’ve learned to love the clouds

They make the most beautiful sunsets.

It’s simply coming to know the fieriness of fire, the wildness of wind, the turbulence of water, the upheaval of earth, as well as the warmth of fire, the coolness and smoothness of water, the gentleness of the breezes, and the goodness, solidness, and dependability of the earth. -The Wisdom of No Escape

the observation room

 

behind the glass
a shirt with stripes
short hair swept to the side

two unmatched socks
a bright-eyed smile
her painful story hides

with guilty eyes
i fix my stare
deceive her honesty

but then her words
with innocence
invade not her but me

the gibberish
and inside jokes
that always cast some out

the perfect frame
not yet fucked up
but serpents whisper doubt

the muted mouths
and huddled groups
she sinks down in her chair

the colored bands
that serve to match
not styles, but their stares

so brave and bold
her dancing smile
answers cold, hard lines

i fight the urge
to pound the glass
to warn her of a time

when bracelets, they
are traded in
for blades and blood and sting

when beauty comes
at one low price
of only everything

when feeling loved
means darkened rooms
a stranger calls you his

here your glasses
blur the night
forgetting all that is

your future self
she holds her breath
pleads ‘jesus’ on her knees

but even now
at twenty-two
feels pain like she’s fourteen.

sitting in a rocking chair

 

i’ll tell my grandchildren,

about a morning where the mackerel sky from my balcony looked more beautiful than ive ever seen it

about a morning when i peered through my neighbor’s window to greet him, chuckling as he tells me he’s been watching since dawn

about a morning when i gazed through my tv, along with the entire world, at a podium on grand white steps, above a sea of confetti crowds

on this morning my faith in, and hope for, humanity was restored.  the house-meeting and door-knocking and data-entering and ballot-filling and prayer-casting had all been carried by the winds of history, flitting down exactly where they were meant to land. 

and despite pockets of ignorance amidst the ceremony, the morning was pure bliss.  the most beautiful music i’ve ever heard played in the crisp washington air as the clock struck noon, and he became president not with words from human mouths but from the cries of our hearts that sang through the violin strings.

and then he took the stage and spoke what we were all thinking, but with more eloquence, grace, and humility than i could ever muster.

                  the time has come to set aside childish things

                                we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals

      our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint

                               we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect

And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world’s resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

 

all of these and more gave life to my soul, as justice and mercy skipped into the light, and divisive, exploitive fear cowered below them. 

and then another spark of life, in the form of a prayer, reminded me that i am not alone in my experience of God.  with his raspy, weary voice, his wisdom pleaded to my ears

With your hands of power and your heart of love, help us then, now, Lord, to work for that day when nations shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid, when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around … when yellow will be mellow … when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen.

 and then more words to comfort my soul.  these words not raspy and withered but pointed and poignant. they ask,

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

and i shiver with gratitude that these words can mark this day for me, where i have none.  and i feel to my core that in today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

any sentence begun. 

how about one with guantanamo, moratorium, and tribunals.

done. 

and as the sun sets in the mackerel sky, my soul sighs, knowing that there is hope that a world will still exist to fill with grandchildren, to crouch at my feet, and listen to this story,

sitting in a rocking chair.

changing of the guards

i love new years.  i love being able to look back on the previous year and reflect on it as a whole…see the ways in which God worked in me, the new ways i experienced life, and the mistakes i can learn from.

2008 was the year…

i graduated from college
i took my mcats
i started living completely on my own
death claimed a loved one for the 3rd consecutive year
i overcame my demon, once and for all
i took part in my first 2 political campaigns
i voted for my first president
i helped elect the first african-american president in the history of the united states
God taught me balance
colorado felt like home
i made a few of my worst mistakes
met my soulmate, in the form of a two-year-old
God provided jobs, housing, and opportunities
i worked my first manual labor job
i turned twenty-two
God loved me even when i was selfish

2009 will, God-willing, be the year i…

apply to medical school
go back to haiti
choose mercy over justice
run a marathon
finally tell the truth when the dentist asks how often i floss
reclaim my delight in simple joys
become fluent in french
work hard at my bucket list
let God direct my steps
find beauty in transitions and transience
pause and think before i speak
enjoy life sober (this sounds more serious than it is)
document life better

 

thank you God that i get to experience another year of life.  this gift is not lost on me.  rip jenny.

how to save a life

elouise, 86.

elizabeth, 91.

roy, 95.

jenny, 19.

 

19.

 

there was an hour two years ago that god let my mind wrap itself around death, but that glimpse of eternity and life and death and love and loss and grief and joy and meaning has slowly faded. and i hold on to the fact that i know that hour existed, even though i can’t recreate it.  yet my mind is met with the same incongruities as before…why? what if?  WHY? how could you god? what if she didnt like that band? what if we never moved here? how can someone who is so alive in my memories be nothing but dust right now? how does the fabric of my lifeline exist when another lifeline that made up parts of mine doesn’t?  my mind maps out the times in my life where our paths crossed, where our sparks of life shared each other’s light for the same moments.  the memories of our jumping on the trampoline and of robert’s antics feel so real, like i could stop and shake her and tell her she only had 3 years left…that she would never marry or have kids or graduate college or…or…but then she disappears.

 

 

honey i know god is good so i know there’s gotta be a better place for you.  we miss you terribly and i feel guilty for living while you dont and i cant grasp that you’re gone and …. godspeed.  that’s all i can say.  godspeed my dear. 

 

 

grounded

it heals, strengthens, and challenges me with each step

the coolness rushes through my fingertips

it’s dirty yet it cleanses and calms

it stays cool and serene, even as the concrete creeps nearby.

the cars stampede and the buildings boast with formidable spirits,

yet the soil stays.

the soil stays serene,

not unaware of the urban madness encroaching,

but serene nonetheless.

knowing that only peace conquers power,

only serenity, speed.

it is the quiet stillness of the soil,

with all of its wonderful imperfections and collage of colors,

that beckons me.

beckons me away from the grandeur of the sky,

and the tall pride of the trees.

beckons me to touch and smell it’s beauty, as if i would not believe otherwise.

made up only of the lowly,

and yet this beauty overlooked gives life to all around it,

even to that which threatens it.

and as the serenity of creation flows through our circuit,

i feel at home.

i hear the whisper that we’ve met before,

and i know it’s true.

the stillness of the soil has always been there,

if i only reach down and hug it,

consider its contours,

soak in the stillness,

the grace of the ground.