"Everything Is Made Of One Hidden Stuff."

At the edge of that winter
my arms wrapped around
so much beauty that I did not
know how to deal with
the rest of my life,
which was not so beautiful

This is how I know
we are more than hunger, more
than what we call love,
more than what we try so hard
to be, yet cannot
name, cannot see or let go:

One morning we wake
and that same sky is silver
and the water shines.
There is beauty beyond all
that grows through the years,
no matter our clumsy steps.

There are not enough kind words,
enough brave deeds or
good thoughts to make this our due.
A gift, only, always,
the trusting hand is the one
that will pull you up.

what astonishes me: my beautiful birthday boy, every day
the trust he put in me to come here and to stay

One More Piece of Holy Ground.

Two weeks until summer,

the air already so hot and still

I haven't breathed since late February. 

Even then, the snow was blowing up from hell.

I could put the fan on,

open a cold one,

but it won’t help.

I'll still have to figure it all out,

figure out my next breath.

I was raised that a man don’t run.

And that’s how I’ve lived my life.

Now I sit here, surrounded 
by a group of somebody's peers,
 and wonder who the hell thought that one up:

The man with the car?

The man with the gun?
The man who lies in your face?

All my losses and all my grief

and all the regrets of my life,
too many to name
but nothing compared to that day,
they're easy to sum up:

I wish I had taught my son to run. Run fast.
And let me stand in his place. 

***
what astonishes me: that parents, every day, are living through this; that they can live through this

Look Back With Longing Eyes.

There will come a day

when you won't remember each other's names.

I think she was in my home room.

He played football. I think.

Don't worry about this. 

You will remember

the softness of that late afternoon sun
a moment of promise between dusk and twilight

the look in your mothers' eyes as they took pictures
 of the beauty and the heat and the lies of memory

the smell of the flowers,

and his hand, gentle on your wrist.

the smell of the flowers,

nothing sweet as the smell of her skin. 

You will remember.

Summer, waiting.

That first dance. And the last.

What you think you will never forget.

Beauty will surprise you, always.

***
what astonishes me again and again and again: 
youth, unjaded

Remembrance.

The sky turned on us, tried to kill us.

Stuck down there like prairie dogs.

I thought of my brother in Iraq, what he said:

After a while, you just want to die faster.

What does it mean, being dead?

Mom says it means living forever, with Jesus.

Dad says don't worry about it, dead means dead.
I hope they're both wrong.

We came out of the crawlspace and thanked God.

Even Dad. On his knees. Thanked God our foundation held.

Our roof could be repaired. Our car was still there.

We ate ribs that night and slept in our beds.

My grandparents. My cousins.

All the neighbors and the trees and everybody's dogs.

Gone.

Like my brother.

Thanks, God. I will remember them, all of them, even if You didn't.

***

what astonishes me: the pain in this boy's face

The Great Meeting of Children.

There are no strangers, only more people to hug.

Hello. I love you.

Hug until you can no longer

tell who is breathing,

whose skin is warmed by the sun.

Hug until you can no longer

tell who just laughed,
whose heart beats in your joy. 

Hug until you can no longer.

The clouds come in so fast

and soon you will be one of us,

worrying about wind and germs

and strangers.

Goodbye, when it's time for that,

when it's time to remember the doll at your feet.

                                               

***

what astonishes me: that they truly do not know a stranger

what saddens me: that they truly do not know a stranger

A Woman Giving Water To A Prisoner of War.

Tell me again why we fight and who is my enemy.

This one, who was taken with his children to fight

for a government that eats big every day?

If babies could eat bullets, his would be fat.
So would mine.

Here is water. Drink. 
They will look the other way.

Maybe you will be home in time to greet your children.

***

what astonishes me:

the gentle drape of this woman's arm around the neck of her enemy

her hand on his shoulder

the scars that circle his neck

the existence of civil war

the existence of war