David and Bernini

Lips tight with anticipation:

    come on, grimace as if it’ll save your life.

       Your tendons tight in exertion:

          twist like a coiled spring.

             It might save your life.

Photo of Bernini's David Courtesy of Simonsonsa

                         The pregnant moment,

the moment that matters.
   The sling, the stone, the shepherd boy.

     The twist, the movement.

       “The name of the God of Jacob defend thee,”

          said the Psalmist once. 
          (They sometimes call you that.)

         And now I think you’re right.

       “But we are risen, and stand upright,”

       and you knew that the risen, 
       the actors, not objects,

    will God deliver.

           God wants actors,

         not loungers. Not danglers.  

       Not perfect bodies, but moving bodies.

      Maybe your body was perfect, but I’m more sure it

     was moving.

   The quiver, the feet in position,

  the twisting, the tightening,

 the grip on a stone like it’ll save your life.

 Lean backward, twist forward,

  Release.

And God delivers.

I am engaged to possibly one of the kindest people in the universe.

When trying to compensate for Lost Time

More than a liquid fish, she was a fighter.

She sat, hands tight into fists,

she dreamed.

There in the bowl were chocolate-covered peanut butter balls,

ready to be bowled over

with powdered sugar.

How could she resist, you thought.

She was angry.  That was how.

Be the bigger person, she thought,

as she day-dreamed.

But all she saw was angry red, angry heart.

You wondered what you’d done.

It seemed like it had just been you breathing

that brought this red rage.

But it was more.

Can you make the cocoa balls, she would have asked if she could

have spoken clearly through gritted teeth.

Can you save a little more time for me?