Sunday, January 31, 2021

Pantry for Canaanites

I can only afford one meal a day

when I need fuel to stay warm

But my sins are forgiven

and eternal life with God secured

I live on crackers and write letters

because this world hurts my eyes

with all of its broken beauty

stained by sin according to His plan

I live on chips and dream

of my children remembering me

and my love for them

and our God with all of His beauty

I live on applesauce and speak freely

among the crumbs that fell

from my master’s table above

They touch my lips and wipe away my sin

I can only afford one meal a day

when money is low and I need fuel to not freeze

But my sins are forgiven

and eternal life with them secured

Thursday, January 7, 2021

In God we trust

Today I found a bag rescued from the town and country

like a feline with no name

meowing and scared, afraid of being found

with pinches of value

She tucked away each memory

individually wrapped by fingers drawing closer to divinity

Fifty two here

Twenty two there

with no explanation as to why

And then just one quarter was wrapped by its lonely, satiny self

minted in 1983 — In God we trust 


Are there such things?

Then came the receipt of cleaning supplies

paid for with an even five doll hairs

purchased exactly three months before never worrying about them again

Only twenty seven cents was preserved from germs that hour

Then, magically, one single penny appeared

wrapped alone like the nibble of a sandwich saved for future hunger

with 2019 stamped across its face

followed by another nibble of 2019

each sealed by a plastic knot so if one escapes

the other is preserved

In God we trust again

I now touch the closest relics

before life everlasting

touched me

Friday, January 1, 2021

1st week of 3rd jubilee

I see your troubles, invisible to me

I breathe your air, suffocating me

I dream your imaginations, portending of me

In the dream 

We draw near the gate of God with breakfast cakes

I also ascend silently halfway up the mount with chunks from my wounded gut

We silently discuss the merits of muted screaming

In the dream

You hate because the demons eat your pain like starving gluttons

You mock because the demons applause and cheer like it’s monday night football 

You bite through flesh because the demons love seeing wives get slugged in the face 



We all gather around the room

from a hundred miles or more

to pray and eat

and hold phones

We watch a large screen

with no sound

and think of what to speak

with vaporous breath

We hug and shake hands

with love thawing in each embrace

except one with whom there is none

for to thaw might look like tears