with a smidgen of theology
a smattering of prayer
with concern for the environment
that preferential option for the poor
with a mother’s lap for a weaned child
and borrowed ah, bright wings
i carefully craft my god

on a fall day
Rain
softly kisses
the breasts of trees

windshield wipers
(my oldest
forty and more years ago
called them smicker smackers)
play hide and seek
with the Rain

my vision blurs
/smick/
clears
\smack\

i hear (my husband)
/smick/
talk soft
\smack\

i watch (my husband)
/smick/
listen hard
\smack\

(even we
will little heed
/smick/
nor long remember
\smack\
what we
say
/smick/
see)
\smack\

but ah, bright love
through a gray day
i hear some God
(not of my making)
chuckle

I was told I would
See the heavens open
As angels of God the Father
Descend and ascend
On the Son of Man

When I was a child
I ran through bright fields
Of imagination’s freedom
And I sang

When I went to school
I fenced those fields away
So I could stay safe
In the cathedral of faith
As I prayed

I waited for those angels
For that Father God
For that Son of Man

When I grew up
I tore down those fences
So I could run free of faith
But thorns drew blood
So I stumbled, I fell

I never found a clear path
I never found one hand to hold tight
One heart to beat with mine
Whether in open fields
Or high walled cathedrals
Whether giddy with flower perfume
Or bloody with thorn sharpness

I never heard a clear call
Only echoes of maybe
Reverberating dreams
In fading sound mist

I never saw those angels
Coming and going

I dragged chains
Heavier and heavier
Up and down
Hills and ravines
Of hopes and failures
Expectations and measures

Now that I am old
I laugh when I remember bright fields
I shiver when I remember fenced cathedrals
I wince when I remember sharp thorns
I smile when I remember perfumed blooms
I cry when I remember dragged chains

But mostly I sigh when I remember
All the nows, all the futures
I have traveled to get here
My love
Here to you

To your hand in mine
To your heart with mine
To your smile, your kiss
Your silences and your tenderness

Then I look at you
At our life
Together
And I raise my eyes
To the opening heavens
And I whisper
Thank you

We live in two worlds simultaneously
Said the psychiatrist
The internal
And the external

We see two worlds simultaneously
Said the artist
The beautiful
And the ugly

We experience two worlds simultaneously
Said the philosopher
The good
And the evil

We struggle with two worlds simultaneously
Said the author
The one we want to remember
And the one we want to forget

We know two worlds simultaneously
Said the theologian
The already
And the not yet

We will live in two worlds
Said the Rabbi
The Olam HaZeh
And the Olam HaBa

They all agree
We – I – inhabit two worlds

But
I have a problem:
I constantly confuse
The two

Is the lesson in the sermon
Or in the helping?

Is the example in the suffering
Or in the feeding?

Is the victory in the cross
Or in the manger?

Is the divinity in the miracles
Or in the humility?

Is salvation in the belief
Or in the doubting?

I hear the yellow pop of a balloon
And the orange sizzle of bacon.

I feel the velvet night sky
And the corduroy city streets.

I taste the sweetness of my husband’s sleep
And the sharpness of my mother’s love.

I see the music of my wet skin
And the noise of my scurrying thoughts.

I smell the smoke of disappointment
And the perfume of slowly waking up.

I am at right angles
Too often
With too much

Fruits of the Spirit
Seem to rot
Before I share them

I can’t even forgive some people
Once
Much less seventy times seven

I am the fig tree
Cursed for barrenness
When the Christ wanted fruit

I am sleeping apostles
I am denying Peter
I am doubting Thomas
I am me

I travel my right angles
Looking for the hypotenuse
That will connect my wanderings
With faith’s straight line