Storing Up

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Bare feet in the October afternoon
we peel apart the flowering silks
of season-ending sweet corn;

the scent of sugared earth floats
as we tear the still-green leaves
revealing rows of cobbed kernels.

Snapping free the stalk and
tossing aside the husk,
we lay the ear by for blanching.

The girls yank and pull and tug
at the shucking, laugh, and grasp
a silk or two with the tips of their fingers

and run through the grass.  I boil, blanch, and shock
the loaded cobs, fillet sheets of gold nuggets into the pan,
spoon the bags full of summer’s gifts for winter’s darkness.

I fill these poems with yanking, pulling, tugging,
shucking, laughing, grasping, running,
the sweetness of childhood’s gifts for the winter’s darkness.

A Prayer for Right-Seeing

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There are times
it requires the entire will,
every muscle fiber, each heart-string,
to see those squashed banana pieces as jewels,
the bread crumbs as confetti,
the demands as opportunities for love.

There are times
I feel the heart reaching, insisting, pulling
on the harness of right-seeing, yoking
these phyical moments to the ever-lasting instant.

So when the dark douses my light
and plunging, sinking, drowning pride
brings its crooked despair,

breathe for me
and turn my eyes to the sky,
let the water recede
and the salt dry up the pity.

There are times
I feel the heart reaching, insisting, pulling
on the harness of right-seeing, yoking
these physical moments to the ever-lasting instant.

Remind me my image is yours.
I am made for the unconditionality of love,
the humility of Christ.

Seeing Love

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Squished banana adornes the counter,
turning formica to quartz,
sparkling, innocence like the eyes of infants.

A vase is filled,
broccoli blooms buttery
and the cilantro bolts to corriander,
tiny white flowers like lace.
Stalks of swiss chard, their deep red veins
and ruffling green leaves stand supportive
at the bouquet’s back
and the mint waits to be noticed.

Headed for laundry, I pass through the kitchen,
wipe up the abandoned fruit
and wonder about the remaining scent unseen.

When my babies are grown, explorers in the wild world,
how will I see love?

Abundance surrounds
the cut herbs and harvested vegetables
like an aura in the full kitchen.
When the empty bedrooms gape,
radical gratitude must be my first nature.
Then the absence will be as abundance,
the overflow of my blessing cup.