Holy Saturday 2010

Written (maybe 3/5ths written) while on a long walk on the new and incomplete bike path towards Easthampton.  It dead-ends just before getting to Route 10– very Shel Silverstein.  I had a pencil in my hair but nothing to write on so I kept trying to memorize this poem as I was composing it.  At one point I considered trying to find some bark to write on.  But that turned out to be unnecessary.

Holy Saturday 2010

For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future– all are yours, and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.

–Paul of Tarsus.
1 Cor. 3:21-23

You have bought back for me
the snow-melt river’s flood,
striped crocuses in modish dress,
forsythia in bud.

You have bought back for me
Manhattan’s grimy gleam,
the outer boroughs’ mysteries,
a million unplumbed histories
on streets where millions dream.

You have bought back for me
all that I’ve loved so well:
a mossed New England drystone wall,
and old friends.  Friendship’s ancient call,
and loyalty that will not pall,
are grace’s tale to tell.

You have bought back for me
all that I’ve not yet tried:
steampunk novels not yet started;
urban gardens not yet planted;
new friends, wise and open-hearted;
capers yet ungallivanted
through the whole world wide.

You have bought back for me
(for it was made by you)
a world I thought was fantasy
and too good to be true:
where the choices I make matter,
and the words I say have weight;
where love and faith and spit and earth
can heal a fellow blind from birth
and we all discover what we’re each worth
to the God who conquered fate.

You have bought back for me
a mind kept safe from harm;
a hope fixed in the One I know;
a heart you’re melting like the snow;
a place to land– the shelter
of the circle of your arm.

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