When I told my friend Sofi about this poem, she said, “Jesus or cheeses!? Those words sound the same.” So now I’ve got to write a poem about cheeses…. But here are two poems for a Sunday and one strange piece of art, because why not?
I stumble over and over; it is worth repeating; I stumble over and over; it is worth repeating; over and over. Because what is left but days and nights, when nobody knows when Jesus will come, like a thief in the night when he will throw the tables of the temple. When he will be angry, He will not be polite. He will say, Wolves in sheep’s clothing, I never knew you. When you draw near to me with your lips but your hearts are far from me. When there is no oil in your lamps. When you’ve been asleep. And every other sort of condemnation, because Jesus was never rules. Or one rule he was only ever, and that is love.
A Venn Diagram
I walk around most of the time Doing and saying, “Everything is fine.” And I pass people, alive, saying and doing the same thing, but, I’m fine and I’m not fine. I’m relentless I’m appalled. I’m quiet I’m exhausted. I’m eager I’m bereft. Hiving inside of me swirling prodding making exploding out my hands, mouth eyes. How could this be fine? How could that ever be fine? No one is fine. We are not fine. We are here. We are in pain. We are in relief. From one moment to the next we are angry wholesome ravaged smart vigilant. We pull to each other, push each other away. Need space --We need no space, Not a millimeter. Need months years lifetimes, But not a second. Your chest to rise and fall with mine. Terrified. And I am free.