Moonbeam in Your Hand

December 31, 2014

I’ll admit

I’ve considered the monastery

The Cenobitic life of sisters

Making soap

Praying in Norwegian

Living in the Light on a tiny island in a fjord.

I’ve considered the prayers

The cell

The daily Bread

The occasional bicycle ride

I’ve thought about the darkness in the winter

The Great Silence after Compline

The need for fish oil

I’m too old

I’m too eremetic

I like sex too much

And want to see my grandchildren

But I’ve thought about it

Pondered it

Prayed and sought God’s Will

It would require a dispensation

An exception to the rule

For I am sixty

A misfit

My own Maria

I don’t fit into Academia

The Church has left me

I’m not making it in the world

How much is a plane ticket to Trondheim?

What would I do with my bike?

Would they want my kayak?

How much are my belongings worth?

Where do I belong

As an Eremitic

Living on my own island

With long flowing hair?

Manic Men of Old:The Magi

December 27, 2014

Manic men of old
Travel for days
Nights
Follow a star

A single star

And something
In their heart
About to burst

They are not only wise
But intuitive

Like women
They read the signs

Like Mary they ponder

Their discernment is spot on
As they leave Herod
Never to return

Movement

December 23, 2014

The flutter has long ceased
Now, the real movement begins

Shepherds, camels, a donkey
Tired feet
Move in unison
As the earth tilts

Herod’s army is still
But beneath
The cloak of night
The owl hovers

Creatures listen
They hear and see
The cows lift their heads
The sheep stop chewing
As the Movement of actors make their humble, wealthy way

Stars explode into angels
Meteors streak silently across the night
The Movement has begun
Is well on its way

The baby turns
Mary shifts
Let’s out a little cry
Joseph looks up, concerned

“Will they make it?” he wonders
As he seeks balance
A perfect stasis between staying put and moving on

The Journey Has Begun

December 22, 2014

They’ve packed the pita bread
Hummus apricots
Dried fish
Water in goatskin tied to the donkey
Bedrolls and sleeping clothes
And sweet goodbyes and time to go

They walk slowly
Braxton-Hicks cramps cause them pause
Will they make it down the dusty road.

Crowded, bundled, friends and family
Each to their own village
To be counted

Joseph is apprehensive
Mary is focused

The time goes fast through Jericho

Up the hill they climb
Step by step they make it

Through the cobblestones alleys of Jerusalem
A shortcut Joseph knows.

Down into the valley. They see the lights
Bethlehem, David, call them home

They finally arrive at the bed and breakfast
To be turned down

It is late.
Mary is tired.
There’s no where else to go.

Scarlett’s Fingers

December 21, 2014

After the war
She scraped,
Sewed
Scrubbed handmade clothes

Dirt under her nails
Torn and calloused skin

No lady
But a woman

Etching out her life
In Georgia clay

I am Scarlett

A woman

Etching out my life in hard-packed soil

I rise in the December cold
This side of the solstice
The wood pile grows shorter
During these Advent days
“O Come, O Come Emmanuel”
Plays mournfully on the radio
The sky is ephemeral
Like the solstice
Perfectly balanced between night and day
Then I hear you
Somewhere in the bare sweetgum, you sing.
It is the Hallelujah chorus
I want to stand
You sing of beauty and hope and warmth
When my breath is invisible
When horses’ blankets come off
And daffodils bloom
You sing of spring

Don’t make me cry
Little sparrow
My hands are cold
My cape is heavy

The color is purple
I long for pink.

Advent Girl

December 9, 2014

Apron strings tie around her waist

As she mixes dough,

cookies to be rolled out

sprinkled with sugar.

no locusts here

but the honey of Love

prepare the Way of the Lord

light a candle

play a carol

hum to yourself

He s coming

Christ Mass draws near.

Mary was full,

rich and ripe

with the sweetness of God.

I am like dead wood

I cannot give birth

dry and spent

I am made into a different instrument

a piece of stable furniture

a manger I am

I lie fallow

waiting

preparing for the birth

keep me concave, Lord,

make me a nest to receive your egg

a hammock

half-mooned

and hung between your Tree

Sky Crazy

December 2, 2014

Georgia O’Keefe

writers and artists in the West

Frieda and Diego

Saw something we can’t in the East

they saw the sky

as they lay with the earth

in the small of their back

color of sunset swirls

stars too numerous to constellate

meteors and diamond ridges

they saw Eagles

and owls swoop for their prey

and cacti like trees

and red rocks

they stood on plateaus and mesas

they worshipped the sun

and color

here, I see green

and bits of clouds over the Kroger parking lot

I glimpse a star here

and an occasional dipper

I watch pigeons

hear killdeer

I see car lights

and neon signs

I strain towards the sunset

squint my eyes to catch the sunrise

I long for sky

sky

sky

more sky