God our Shelter

 

God our Shelter 

left his home 

to dwell with every beast

no roof his own

no pillow, either 

yet see how they're kept 

safe beneath pinions 

safe, on his breast

Haiku for Matt, final version

The crack in your voice

When I asked if you were well

Says I'm not alone

The Garden, in Part, draft no. 9*

 

In the evening

I walked by the garden

the old couple had tilled

on the corner of Jordan

and Highview

and wept.

Would that the garden 

we had made 

had been like that one.

It feels too late to start

growing. The soil

is clay and tears

the only water.

There's been much talk

about how parents ought

to bless their children;

I never dreamed

how much I'd need

my children

to bless me.

The children are old enough

to get married themselves now

and, post-covid,

banished to---not from

--the gardens

Here, when I look out at them

through my kitchen window

supple-skinned,

splayed out on the lawn

moving their day

from church to tent

and back again,

I'm in turns hopeful

and ashamed

and proud

their garden will be much richer

and more fragrant than mine.

They are tending it

so well, down to the very

ordering of their seeds.

Plans have been changing 

these days--

But the weddings still go on

More people or less.

More space or less.

More risk or less.

The love,

it goes on, too,

more or ...

more.

* * *

When night falls, the fireflies

with their defiant blinking

the improbable fireflies 

find their glow mates

in the garden's reeds.

The Lord's blessings be upon you, 

My precious, rare fireflies.

Love, 

Mom

*Poem title taken from an abstract painting I own by artist Kelly Kruse. 

Passion Haiku

 Blood red cardinal

Singing atop my thorn tree

Portends Christ’s Passion

Renovations

Hear, in quiet McCosh

A straightened stair sighing for

Students' carving weight

Published in the class of '92 notes, March 2021 edition of the PAW.   

Robin's Nest

 A good empty

Free

Finding their wings

Just like me. 

(Insert photo of empty robin's nest here). 

Jen with Three Ns

My J's crook wound like a lollipop

Like a fine-toothed comb was my E

True, each of my Ns had one hump only

Yet there was not one of these, but three

(I have never known when to stop,

can’t you see?)