Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Seven Seconds

Have you ever found yourself in the middle of the road
with the high horizon of unclipped days ahead of you
and the billowing brilliant blindness of your past behind you
with a 16 drumbeat on either side of each eardrum

pressing?

The militant green of a warrior's call
in the wilderness
sounds more like the soft cry of
woman on the brink

quick, heart, think, think....

it has got to be somewhere
the directions that I had so neatly tucked away in my back pocket
that fell from grace into a forlorn
mecca somewhere on the road to redemption?

It has to be somewhere
this promised land
that makes my eyes misty and my heart
write contrite poetry
when it breaks
that makes me protest
and proclaim
and provide
my most intimate courage
that I desperately need as I stand in the middle of the road
between the pro and the land
I must have missed something.


How many times did I say yes to them
and no to me
How many times did I hold onto you
and lose me
or worse
How many times did I get up from praying to Him
to answer yet again, another ringing call
that in the middle of the night gives me no comfort
or blessed assurance

I have been unfaithful to myself
by drinking my desires to please others
and the expense of my own
starvation

You see in the middle of the road
stretched too thin
too far from safety and not close enough to sanity

you put yourself in quite a position

alone with your rendition of
do you know the way to San Jose
and a desire for ordered steps
all the while time is racing down a lonely highway at a hellish pace

But are you ready to chose the plan God has for you?
To chose or have it chosen for you
this day
whom will you serve?

The only way off a highway
out of the middle of the road
is to pick a side
take His hand
and walk

Monday, April 09, 2007

The me, interrupted, recalled.

Today I remembered something I'd long forgotten
like a conversation or keys
or those blasted gold sandals which must be
somewhere in the back of my mama's closet

I was looking for my past and I found her
riding in the backseat of the
maroon Javelin
circa 1975
bright radiant
wishes
tickling the corners of her
lips
a passerby
waves back
with grin
that seems to cross continents
chromosomes, creeds, colors

I look at her
pigtailed
skin smooth brown cake
echoing eyes
that shine

and I remember
how it felt
to be me
back then

I smiled to myself
in spite of myself
in spite of the miles and miles of
mud that I have walked through
hitchhiking on other people's images of who they
think I am

Next time I see her,
I'll be riding, too
and I'll wave back
knowing...