details

i too often fail 
to pay attention 

there are too many distractions 
so much to do 

but i’m getting better at resting 
the trick is one of balance 
 
the way one places their feet 
just so 

i know only to make 
myself available 

i just keep walking 
i rehearse the words 

try to remember how it felt
when you touched me 

make note of when the season changes 
the quality of light 

the shift in birdsong 
the way the air moves 

i forget how little changes 
and how much 

how often i discover 
beauty when I least expect it 

how beauty is a gift 
my hands sift 

i miss being awake 
late at night 

i miss when everything was 
less insistent 

i want to be asleep 
before the storm comes

bright monday

let’s take this outside 

keep the singing going 

repeat the songs 

wave the flags 

throw the flowers 

take the day 

take two days 

take the week 

repeat the songs 

invite someone 

join the dance 

wave your arms 

stomp your feet 

raise joyous shouts 

open your eyes 

everything is singing 

repeat the songs

easter sunday

you never asked 
us to do this
you only asked 
we break bread 

we hold the vigils 
we fill the baskets 
with eggs 
we buy lilies 
because of 
the beauty 
 
this moment 
that is only 
a moment 

now we take 
the next steps: 
the tomb is empty, 
He is risen! 
echoes mouth to mouth 
everywhere we go 
we keep meeting you 
in gardens
                 on the road
                                    in our rooms 
sharing meals 

you bring us up to the mountain 
and leave us 
to walk back down alone 

you make us promises 
and we wrap ourselves inside them 
until they become our skin

black saturday

i’m not yet ready 
for any hallelujahs. 
i am preparing 
for burial. 
we are still 
entombed. 

we hold our breath. 
there are still songs 
but they hold 
no celebration. 

each day is 
always a day of 
lamentation 
or watchful 
expectation. 

we are told 
good tidings 
proclaimed 
to the dead. 

we bring our 
offerings, 
prepare 
our ways. 
take time 
for blessing, 
baskets full: 
bread, eggs, 
lamb, salt. 

the floors 
covered:
laurel leaves, 
flower petals.

our hands empty. 
and then we wait. 

victory today 
though not yet 
risen.

black friday

1. bookended by gardens, each hour of this day is the new suffering* 
2. bound by the promise of a new horizon, the different ways we kiss each other: 
3. blessing or judgement, even betrayal. we mouth our authority in silence 
4. banded together by despair or indifference. we know what we ought to do 
5. but we wash our hands of it, gather distractions and pass them off as gifts. 
6. buffeted, we storm forward. we mistake stumbling for dancing. 
7. bearing the weight of others, we lose our sense of direction. just choose a path. 
8. brothers and sisters will find you in this press of people and bear you along. 
9. breathe. you may yet find the words. you may yet find comfort. you may yet find righteous anger 
10. beyond this emptiness. find a way to clothe it and bring it into the light. 
11. bring it into the light. position yourself in the center of grief and hope. 
12. bind yourself to another body, soul, spirit – find fathers and mothers to father and mother. 
13. bury everything. it’s really not about you. do you know what you have lost? 
14. blanket yourself in the questions. the quaking heart. this tomb of not knowing the end.

* Bulgakov, Sergei V. Handbook for Church Servants. (1900).