Dawn

A beginner's guide to resurrection.

Terms-

Gravity: a familiarity with graves

Death: loss of breath in the dark

Life: the peculiar desperation, or dance, to outrun/accept Death and Gravity.

What is it to be alive?

You start naked.  This can be awkward.  Or not.  Stories recommend gardens for adjustment.  Expect people not to recognize you, unless you decide to call them by name.  Don't mind locked doors.  Who said anything about knocking?

Church is out of the question.  Something about ruining their curtains.  This doesn't matter as you prefer walking with strangers anyway.

You can say grace, disappear, touch women, build campfires on the beach, and eat with friends.  You should probably go fishing.

Get up early.  The dark will sometimes smell like the grave.  When this happens, go outside first thing where the birdsong gives it away.

Remember what it was like to be 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, before everything happened.  Think about different planets' rotations and how some days are longer than others.  Count down from 40.

Find a good hill to ascend on.

Eat more fish.  Only let the doubters in on the wound and save some time for your impetuous friend.  Don't soothe.  Speak in present tense.

And yes, plant flowers under that lynching tree.  Choose perennials.  What you both did took guts.

Indeed.

The fruits of the spirit

So you thought

this heartbreak

would let up

that first draft

left a door open

And

with all that you had,

walked out

After years of work

you're tired

it would take a miracle

to start again

Somehow you did

and found yourself

learning to use

the ache

for more

You loved it into poetry and

mixed in peace through watercolor

It sprinted out with joy

at the end of a run

Welcomed some new friends

to share a holyday

And served that sent-home-slice

of Chocolate Pecan Pie

Lonely moves

Towards alone

And embraces

the heart

first

Wherein lies

the fatal

error

The patience a kindness

learned to offer the self becomes

fidelity with a presence too

good to be true

And so you're there and back again

Despised and rejected, was it?

This acquaintance of grief...

When it knocks

again

You invite it in

to sit at the table

like a long lost friend

"What do we do now?"

It asks

and You reply,

"We keep

making beautiful things"

The Table

A poem for my beloved.

You built it again

like so many things

each time better

(that's how you hope)

The one before was lighter

but warped from keeping water

that it needed to let go

Your frame was good,

we kept it in the move

then twisted together

assembling a skeleton

set alone in a dining room

With nowhere to eat

for so long

you found different pieces

laid them down

pierced and bound across

in patience they dried out

Those seated at the table

do not know

it's hollowed underneath

from heavier things

A testament of youth

and emptied hearts

still saying:

Welcome

Ps 23:5