I found that thing which had been lost.
Though to be honest,
I hadn’t realized it was lost.
In fact,
I had not thought of it in the least
for …
I have no idea how long.
But there it was-
in all its glory.
The thing that had been lost
or misplaced
or forgotten
was here.
In my hand.
It was now remembered.
A memory attached.
To always be that thing
that had been lost,
now found.
In three acrostics
Holding
Onto a
Presumption of
Expectation
Having
Only a
Pale belief for
Edens rapture
Hearing the sound
Of angels voices
Pealing good news
Eclipsing time and story
Sleet filled air
tracing patterns across the landscape
Wind whipped names
tagged by ice and snow
Hieroglyphics extolling
the mysteries of cardinals
sparrows and doves
created to be lost and rewritten
by the late winter sun
The scent rises from the damp cool earth,
sweet as my grandmothers perfume.
That smell that still permeates the drawer
of the old vanity
with its foxed mirror.
When I open it,
she appears,
Our Lady of the Hyacinths,
in her pale lilac cloak suffused with perfume
and held high by fat cheeked cherubs,
like the little chalkware angels
that perched on her vanity top
with chipped wings
and bashful eyes.
I gently hold the heady blossoms
as I rake away the last of autumn’s leaves.
Sweetness lingers in my hands,
hands that are shaped like my grandmothers,
square palms with short fingers,
blessed by Our Lady of the Hyacinths.
When an angel appears to me,
I’m pretty sure I will have questions.
I will say
What do you mean?
What are you saying?
And then I’m pretty sure
I will lose my voice
like Zechariah.
I will be left mute
until it comes to pass.
Or like Jacob,
I will wrestle my angel
until I am left with a limp
and maybe a name change
and hopefully a blessing.
But when that angel shows up
and says
Fear not,
I want to be fear-less.
I want to live my life
and fear not whatever comes.
Today, I will pray for
that
ferocity of fearlessness
and be ready to roar
Yes!
whenever that angel shows her face.
the gravel bar stretches
to receding waters edge
tiny white shells grace the shoreline
angels wings left behind
I remind myself to pay attention
should the stones choose to shout out
or the mountains bow down.
Just in case a triad of angels
drop by the house for a visit,
I keep the sacrament of hospitality prepared.
My eyes are open
should I need to clothe the naked
or feed the hungry
or maybe have occasion to do justice
or show mercy.
Shaking myself to stay awake,
I have my eyes peeled
for the bridegroom
like the wise virgins.
Reminding myself
to keep alert,
ready to hear that whisper
loud as a thunderclap-
(‘Be still’)
*** This a poem written several years ago and posted on the first Sunday of Advent the past years.
As I am preparing for the holidays again, it reminds me to keep prepared in other ways. Things I should be prepared to do each and every day – feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be just, merciful, hospitable.
Should you be so inclined, these are the Biblical references: Luke 19:40, Habakkuk 3:6, Hebrews 13:2, Micah 6:8, Isaiah 58:7, Matthew 25, Psalm 46:10
