Rain on
a Cedar Roof
An unfinished attic was my first place apart.
At bedtime, I’d climb a ladder to where
rough boards formed a platform
for an iron bed stead,
a can bottomed chair,
a small table, and
a coal oil lamp.
The ceiling was so low
I could touch the nails
that held the cedar shingles.
I loved rainy nights, which
meant pots and pans
under the leaks.
I’d blow out the lamp,
slip between the sheets, beneath a
quilt my grandmother made.
The sound of the rain on the roof
and the tunes the raindrops played
in the pans, spun me into
a cocoon of dreams.
When I awoke,
I had the feeling that I could fly.
The
Street Preacher
He stands on the corner of Fourth and Broadway
in front of the Brown Hotel, catching his congregation
between “walk” and “don’t walk,” an open Bible
in his left hand, a fisted right hand pounding the air,
his words bouncing off the walls of his urban canyon.
He’d look like an Old Testament prophet with his
craggy features and full beard, if he’d trade his
cowboy boots
for a pair of sandals and his polyester suit for a woolen
robe.
His sermon is plain. “God’s upset by how we live, and
wants us to repent and change our ways,”
It’s a message
they aren’t ready to hear, at least not from him.
More likely they’ll learn of the sad state of affairs
from the evening news or their Wall Street Journal,
where they won’t be embarrassed by the directness
of the report or the hint of personal responsibility.
On Sunday morning recognized ministers
will preach a more refined version of the
same message, to people seated in pews,
who also give too much weight to the nightly
business report and whose minds keep crossing
the street every time the light changes.
Letting the
Silence Say It All In memory of Ernie White
When I heard it was a cancer that
Wouldn’t respond to treatment,
I made plans to visit, yet
Dreaded our meeting.
I armed myself with gifts—
Dahlia Zinnias from my garden,
Walnut raisin bread from the baker—
Afraid to let my presence speak for itself.
When I arrived, we sat and chatted
About the trivialities of the day,
Avoiding that larger theme we
Didn’t feel free to explore—
Letting the silence say it all.
A Rhythm for My
Life
Help me to find a rhythm for my life
in keeping with my strength, my gifts,
my opportunities, my commitments,
and Thy larger purpose.
Let there be a celebration of life,
the building of relationships,
and the nurturing of others.
Let there be unhurried strolls in the woods,
quiet mornings spent on the pond,
poking around country roads,
Afternoon naps in the porch swing,
leisurely meals with friends,
chickadees fed and zinnias grown.
Let there come to me a quietness of soul,
a relaxed body, an alert mind,
a gentle touch, an inner peace,
an integrity of being.
