• lenten journal: life lines

    by  • February 20, 2013 • lenten journal, poetry • 3 Comments

    There are some nights I sit down to write what has been brewing all day, then there are others where I begin with a blank canvas and try to get quiet enough to see what ripens. Tonight’s poem comes at the end of a busy day when I don’t feel as though I had time to take in all that was given me to digest. And so I sat quietly and listened to Gavin Bryar’s “Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet” and here is what found it’s way to the page.

    life lines

    I’ve been staring at my palm
    for over an hour: the ladder-like
    lines that stack up from wrist to
    thumb; the deep rutted roads
    that run like poorly planned
    highways across an aging desert
    of skin. Instead — what if they
    are river beds now run dry —
    the lesser lines faded-out paths
    from days when dreams roamed
    these valleys like dinosaurs.

    You’re right — I’ve been staring
    too long to do much more
    than get lost in wrinkled
    metaphors and epidermal
    esoterica, yet I am still captured
    by my little cellular cosmos
    held in my calloused hand,
    little lines marking mystery
    just like the moon did hiding
    behind the trees, watching as
    we talked among the tomb
    stones and then followed
    our own well-worn paths
    to get home for dinner.

    Peace,
    Milton

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    3 Responses to lenten journal: life lines

    1. February 20, 2013 at 11:34 pm

      Seems to me: no matter what the post or point, your strength is always in driving it home.

    2. February 21, 2013 at 9:28 am

      I love your phrase “get quiet enough to see what ripens” It resulted in a rich observation and reflection of what is contained in a simple hand! A lovely start to my day pondering this..

    3. February 22, 2013 at 3:22 pm

      Deep breath. Thanks for that.

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