I have some new ideas about where to take this blog. In case I become wiser in blog formats, I may change sites or providers. So far I have used this as an open journal, pouring my heart and story out to the internet. I have since found that I enjoy writing about poetry and hope to be able to write something intelligent or insightful about teaching in the future. All of this on top of journal/spiritual memoirs should make for an interesting blog I hope. I will be busy, but processing online should help. In the meantime, I offer you this, an original poem of mine.
When Eve Came
Crying
Perhaps when she grew cold and
Dwelt on the tundra of her shame,
And all she wanted in the world
Was for him to crave her, to take her.
But no one had taught him how to dry
Tears like shooting stars in twilight.
What song could he hum to lure her
Back to the ribs where she belongs?
He finds her awake in the cold hours of dawn.
With wild deer eyes she asks him
“When are we going back to the garden?
When are we going home?”
But home is strung out before them like a bad joke
Running on and on through creeks and dead things.
No poet whispers in his ear the verse to speak,
Unsaid words dribble from his lips and pool in his lap.
What did he know of long walks on the beach
And candlelit dinners or afternoon picnics?
Now he only knew the land grinding the skin
Off his hands; the earth hard and forgotten.
The sweat running down his back the way
Eve’s fingers used to trace the sinews of his frame.
He cradles her at night and whistles a song
The cardinals taught him where the soil was soft
And the days went on like a good morning stretch.
He cannot remember if it is a sad song or a happy one,
So he makes it up as he goes.
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