Iron Courage Cowboy

There is a cowboy standing proud, almost a man

     with cold, iron courage in his hand

He’s on the river bank across from me

     6,000 bodies between us in this morbid, crimson sea

Twice as many injured and bleeding still

     that wounding bullets didn’t get to kill

The tide of blood is rising, rising day for day

     nine more bodies shot dead, shot dead today

I call over to the cowboy and ask him to join my side

     to put away that gun and stem the carmine tide

But he cannot hear me, and I don’t understand

     he’s gripping iron courage in his hand

So I gather facts like cotton, and weave a solid strand

     and try my best to lasso that gun out of his hand

But he cannot hear me, and I don’t understand

     he’s gripping iron courage in his hand

Could I build a bridge by stacking stories one upon another?

     how boys are shooting children and one guy shot his brothers 

     how husbands shoot their wives, and this kid shot his mother?

But the cowboy cannot hear me, and I don’t understand

     he’s gripping iron courage in his hand

There is nothing left for me to do 

     than wade into the river

so I take off my belt, my coat, my shoes

          and wade into the river

     and all the rest I must remove

          to wade into the river

Through all the bodies, all the blood, all the tears

     Through all the pain, all the hate, all the fears

All the screams, all the grief, and the terrors of the night

     I wade through the river till the cowboy comes in sight

I have no plan, no scheme, no dagger up my leg

     I have no other recourse than simply to beg

I finally reach his shore somehow, 

     But I did very nearly drown

And tired and weak and naked now, 

     I throw my body down, 

     I throw my body down

Stripped and bare and at his mercy now

     I throw my body down,

     I throw my body down

“Please, please put away your gun, cowboy

     and instead become a man

Trade in your cold iron courage

     for these wounds in both my hands

These outstretched palms cheated death, held contempt at bay,

     and overcame the cold iron courage of their day”

Back to That Girl

If I had a crystal ball, a magic wand, a time machine

if I could fly a carpet

click my heels

wrinkle time

I’d go find that little girl

with ratty brown hair and hazel eyes

such a tiny thing

and all alone

with scrapes on her knees

and bruises on her arms

who did not hurry to school

nor hurry home

I’d go find her at her favorite spot

outside the window, in front of the shop

standing there in her dirty, yellow-stained dress

awed by the tall plastic ladies 

     in their pretty new skirts

I’d get down on one knee

gently tuck her hair behind her ear, 

softly stroke her cheek with the back of my hand,

kiss her forehead and whisper to her heart

“What a precious child you are!

How brave you have been!

What promise you hold!

And one day, when you are as grown as those ladies in the window,

you won’t be afraid anymore, 

nor need linger in the in-between places.

Because you will be in charge of yourself.”

What Will I Inherit?

The rooms are empty now,

     and yet the floors and walls are steeped in memories

How do we keep them?

How can we ferry them across the generations?

I want to salvage what I can, 

     before the doors lock behind me

I want to scour the house for some good thing

I want to savor that smell

I want to retrieve some small ember 

     of the warmth that once gathered here

I want to drink from the family well

But the house has grown cold

The well is almost all dried up

The life has been eking out of the cracks, 

     dispersing across the country,

     gathering in other homes,

     digging other wells.

The rooms are empty now

Only relics remain

So what can I ask for? 

What will I receive?

Is there anything left for someone so far away?

Something that will smuggle out of the country 

     a lifetime worth of trips 

to Grandma’ and Grandpa’s house?

The bricks and mortar are staying put

The foundation strong but immobile

     too burdensome for transport to another context

Anyway, left to someone I hardly know… so

I want the crawl space in the unfinished basement,

That small clearance, where only children can stoop, 

     and with a scoop of imagination,

          create a stage for heroes 

               with socks for skin and hands as bones.

Please, just bag it up, this tiny magic place, 

     and send it overseas,

And I shall grow from it another house, 

     with soul, and spirit, 

          and living, breathing, pulsing stones

No chairs, no tables, no rugs or cupboards,

No beds, no paintings, no pillows or covers

     none of these will fit in my check-in luggage.

Every item too big, too cumbersome, too heavy a load,

     So...

May I just have the alligator moat?

That space between the beds upstairs,

     which flowed with crock infested, rushing waters

Just throw them in a little boat, 

     those make-believe reptiles snapping at our legs,

          as we jumped from one mattress to the other.

And let them rough it on the Ocean Seas,

     until they find their way back home to me

The table is taken

The plates are packed

The glasses gone

So, may I have the wet twinkle in my uncle’s eyes?

Can I have the belly laughter that rolled 

     through the dining room?

I’d like to have Grandma’s soft, lilting, reading voice,

     and Grandpa’s raspy, enquiring interjections

I want to keep the stories

     of younger years and days of old

And if someone else should claim the silver 

     and the gold

I want to have the tales of sorrow 

     gone untold

Especially those 

     tales of sorrow gone untold.

When the shelves are empty 

     and the closets bare

When the lights are off

     and the fire has burned out

When the house lay dark

     and cold as a tomb

And there’s nothing left

     but the elephants in the room

Let me take that invisible herd,

     that has been there as long as I remember

I’ll slip them past customs unseen,

     fly them to a far off place in the sun

Give them each a name 

     and shoot them one by one

Now I’m standing in the kitchen

It is time to go

     and deep down I know

I will never see her again

I kiss her lips and squeeze her hand

     and fight the water in my eyes

So much time, so much distance, 

     so many worlds between us

How quickly we run out of time and things to say 

     and no parting words redeem us

But I am not leaving empty handed

I’ve smuggled something precious in my carry-on

Something that I have received all through my years, 

     though I live so far away

     and never even asked for it

So now at home, when it gets dark,

     and hard, 

     and I’m all tied up 

          and tangled in my scars

I look to her faithful, humble prayers 

     collected like fireflies 

          in these three blue jars.

Rainbows

Just discovered this poem which I posted  a long while ago as a comment on a blog post about diversity in the church.

I am white
I am a woman
I am a white woman
too distracted by her own exclusion
to include another
to reach out
to reach down
to see
to really see the invisible people
I live in a world
where white still has the power
I need to share
the spotlight
pass the mic
open the door
stoop down  
listen
to the whispers
to the songs
to the heartbreak
I am a white women
and I thirst for color
rainbows and rainbows of color
rainbows and rainbows of color
painting the canvas of heaven
with rainbows and rainbows of color

Now She Knows

Nine years old

and now she knows

She asked me in the car

driving to her violin lessons

pretty as can be

her long blond hair

uncombed as always

Nine years old

and now she knows

Emre, a Turkish boy

in her class

told her

How does he know?

Just out of the blue,

he says something like that?

Nine years old

and now she knows

she will ride in a horse drawn carriage

and her flower girls will ride ponies

she has lots of names for her children

so this is hard to understand

she thinks being a mommy

is the best thing in the world

and I am the best mommy

Nine years old

and now she knows

“Mommy, is it true,

that some people

kill their babies

even before they are born?

Their girl babies?”

Nine years old

and now she knows

Girl babies aren’t as good

Boy babies are better, but

“I’m going to keep

all of my babies,

boys and girls,

I’ll love them both

the same”

Nine years old

and now she Knows

A Maternal Memorial

Driving.. on my way to buy stuff

By the Hand of My Father,

from the Paper Boys

Is playing on my ipod.

As the words that I am singing along to

start to sink in

all the way in

past my defenses

past my consumerist distractions

past the soft layers I’ve added on over the years

One day late

I cry for her

Crazy as a loon

By the hand of my father

but never by the hand of my mother

she never used power and violence to hurt me

maybe because she had no power

A powerless crazy ol’ woman

who never beat me

suffered

gave birth

plunged me into this world

taught me how to tie a bow

and draw paper dolls

and carried me through the snow

and that was it

all she could give

but enough

I cry

Maternal memory is carried down river

as grief for our great matriarch

casts its yawl into my willing emotional current

Our Mother

perpetually raped

is now being soiled

with the black semen

of man’s lust for power,

Our Mother

left barren

must watch

as her children drown

in it’s filth

We weep

We mothers weep

We grandmothers weep

for our great mother

our schizophrenic mother

who heaves and throws tantrums

and sometimes tries to

shake herself free of us

and protect herself

from the hands of our fathers

Safe Place

I’m longing for a safe place

A spot of heaven here on earth

To dance, to sing, to play

To laugh as the light tickles my nose

Bubbling passion, color and zest

A living collage of leather, velvet and lace

I’m longing for a safe place

Where a hand on my shoulder says,

“I give you strength, have courage!” and

Eyes full of dangerous adventure sparkle,

“Go ahead! Dare! Take a risk!

I’ll catch you when you fall!”

In a web of homespun grace

I’m longing for a safe place

Where visions can be safely birthed

Through the jungle of doubters and scoffers

Someone ploughs ahead

And someone has got my back –

Carving out a way to an Inn, a barn, a shed,

Or some other fertile space

I’m longing for a safe place

Where an unmistakable voice rings out

Clear as a bell

For all to hear,

“This is my beloved friend, in her I am well pleased!”

Yeah! Where I can grow tall and confident,

blossom and flourish,

Every self doubt erased

I’m longing for a safe place

Where the game rules are easy to understand

And the foul lines clearly marked for all to see

So I don’t have to tiptoe around

In fear of tripping a live wire

Before I safely reach home base

I’m longing for a safe place

Where I am treated like a good novel

Each word savored

Every page carefully turned

with hopeful anticipation of a happy end

Where the clues to the plot are uncovered,

And the Author’s intention traced

I’m longing for a safe place

Where vulnerability is a two way street

Where we entrust each other

with our insufficiencies

Where we celebrate each other

as our missing part

Where power and titles are lost

in a friendship’s embrace

I’m longing for a safe place

A spot of heaven here on earth

To live, to work, to pray

Where I love as I am loved

And I dare to find a friend

In an enemy's face

Good Friday

The streets are crowded with pointed fingers,

open windows, scornful sneers

self-righteousness breathing past every

curtain sheer

Heads tossed back, noses high, 

lips are tightly curled and wry

Eyes are squinted, scornful, wild,

darting, dancing like a lusty fire

Under shade of shadow, 

dark and night

my heart is pounding, racing, aching, 

slipping hastily out of sight

Endless are the alleys- cursed this

wretched winding maze

No safe place for me – no where to 

escape their dreadful, daunting gaze

Down and down,

 swept out through the city gates

by their stinging jeers, “how dare you

stain our Holy place.”

One against a vast universe

One in an endless void

One roaming in a haunted silence

thoughts scoring a reckless noise

One tired of straining, reaching out 

for something to hold

awkwardly stumbling through this

blackened cold

Ascending rough and jagged 

steep incline

Hope for friendly years long poured out

like bitter wine

Shameful memories taunt,

painful pictures flash

as knees against these craggy rocks 

are dashed

The climb is over as the ruthless sun

begins its rule

breathless I stare at the city 

set and shimmering like a jewel

How fair and admirable you seem

taken at a far off glance

With veil of masked perfection, silence, and 

denial, you weave a master dance

But underneath the lying silken cover

lurks controlling, condemning an 

unappeasable, moody lover

How I strived to curt you, 

paying much too dear a cost

I played my hand at your game 

but like a fool have lost

And now from limb and geist 

Have gone the fight

And fitful, tardy sleep relieves 

this early hour of its deceitful sight

All at once my every sinew, 

muscle bound

wrenched from rest by a 

nightmarish sound 

The sharp and blood-thirsty cracking 

of a whip

mean and menacing shouts 

from a battery of mocking lips

fueled to a frenzy by their 

righteous cause

slandering the heretic

for breaking their laws

Fear fraught and horror stricken

I lie low and frozen to the ground

Panic struck and heart sickened

to have so soon been found

Cringing, shrinking, wishing every past wrong 

would disappear

all the while the shouting mob

draws near

Knowing all is lost

I hold my breath and wait

for the scourging blow

the culmination of their hate

❈

But what is this?

One man alone so bold

stands with outstretched arms

to bid this band of fury hold?

And what such a man is he?

My wet and wishful eyes can barely see

this foolish act which may 

yet set me free

Beyond belief he stands exposed

and stays an army in its path

Suspending comprehension,

he remains composed 

as he consumes their awful wrath

Bruised and battered his skin in tatters

and soaked in blood red

Taunted and tired his honor mired

 a cruel and caustic crown upon his head

Solemn and sober he endures

their morbid glee

Sovereign and serene as they 

nail him to a tree

 Such noble assembly

does not stop to rest

they hurl their insults and abuse

they jeer and jest

hang a wooden sign 

as a last assault

 King of The Jews

they credit to his  fault

But naked outstretched limbs

withstand the fury of disgrace

and low and tortured whisper

   commands his final case. 

Arms open wide

 invite an enemy’s embrace

as stolen breath

 requites this ignorant, lynching mob

 with amazing grace,

Winding back up through 

the city’s malevolent maze

I will never forget the tears,

 the blood, his benevolent gaze

Love has subdued hate, 

subverted violence, swallowed shame

and needing no one’s permission

I am free to do the same

The Deadly Box

 The Deadly Box

It’s kind of cramped in here

I guess it wouldn’t be a bad spot

for a game of Hide and Seek

...a short game

But I can’t stretch my legs

My head is here between my knees

my elbow is jabbed into my leg

Hey, this box is very UNCOMFORTABLE

I don’t really want to be in here for too long

I mean, how am I supposed to eat?

Take in new nourishment?

Or go to the bathroom!?

You know, getting rid of all that stuff 

that has been processed and 

has no more growth value

There certainly is no room for 

GROWING in here! 

Not in any direction!

I can’t even change my position, 

turn on the other side

or even lift my head 

from between my knees

And I definitely don’t want anyone 

to see me this way!

I’m not in a very flattering position

My better sides don’t come to light

not in this place

I’m over due for a shower

Oh how nice that would be...

a warm shower 

to take away all the dirt and sweat, 

which is a part of life, 

whether one is in a box or not,

Ah, to feel fresh and clean again

It’s beginning to smell!

What with no bathroom, 

no shower

no fresh air...

Fresh air!

Yes, air (breathing)

I’m getting rather short of air

(breathing harder)

I’m afraid I can’t get enough to breath

(gasping for breath)

I’m running out of...

Hey, you, 

don’t go away!

(gasping)

I can’t breath!

(gasping faster)

Come back!

(desperate)

Don’t leave me here to....

(desperately gasping)

Please...

(faintly gasping)

LET ME OUT OF THIS BOX!!

“You have heard that the law of Moses says, “Do not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.”  But I say, if you are angry with someone, you are subject to judgement! If you put someone in a box and label it “idiot,” you are in danger of being (tried for murder).  And if you label someone “fool,” you are in danger of facing the ultimate judgement yourself”  

- Jesus