sounds like the End
maybe they are the same thing
I am the mouse running . . . nowhere
marking the calendar, scheduling bloodwork, MRIs, lumbar punctures, chemo,
crossing off these days
longing for The Day.
I have my Son here whom I cherish,
Together, we make a doctrine of our present, amputated life
with music and new friends.
We make happy in the moment
but sorrow nudges our periphery,
stretching to a hazy horizon,
a destination where I hope to find
the Father, another Son, a red-haired Daughter, a brown-eyed Daughter.
So far away
sorrow and hope entwined.
You are my bones, breath and blood. I spill You from my pen
onto my little notebook
while I sit in waiting rooms.
I talk to You in the shower, driving to the store, taking out trash.
All my Words, spoken and written to You, for You, about You.
Perhaps I try to speak You into being
here with me.
Your Absence is as real to me
as the person standing beside me in this borrowed kitchen
while I stir the cabbage.
Perhaps I hear Your Absence louder
than Your Presence —
I hope not.
I hope my ears hear
and my eyes see You
clear and subtle
when You share Your heart,
tell me Your story,
show me Your beetle,
play Your song.
Did you know Time is elastic?
It stretched long these last months,
each moment anorexic without
I want to snap Time back to
our Together in a wooded Eden on the hill.
Instead, I wait
I wait for our Restored Home on the horizon
while I use my heart, hands and words to redeem now.