i.
the brink
thick
grasses
thinly woven bricks
beneath; tucked
between flags
that would clip-clop when shoes
struck them broad enough
for confident walking
eyes lifted, many yards before their horizon.
But these are a brink of thick grasses
thinkly woven thin as decoration
between flags, narrow as falling into grass on either side,
straw-colored, declining toward the dormant
winter bed of summer flowers,
annuals waiting without knowledge, spent when planted, bloomed, weeded.
ii.
the brink
grasses
beneath; tucked
that would clip-clop when shoes
for confident walking
But these are a brink of thick grasses
between flags, narrow as falling into grass on either side,
winter bed of summer flowers,
thick
thinly woven bricks
between flags
struck them broad enough
eyes lifted, many yards before their horizon,
thinkly woven thin as decoration
straw-colored, declining toward the dormant
annuals waiting without knowledge, spent when planted, bloomed, weeded.
I am removing five bricks, a total of 75, from in between rectangular flags that are our front walkway. It is too narrow, and tumbling, though fun when straw is soft, is not a walk.
The dark stranger is home, silhouetted in the door, hungry for lunch.
Not once did the stone pile
apologize for being a pile of stones still
heavy one against the other depressed into
soft earth. She lifted
one, at a time-child method,
grateful for weighted presence loosening her
hands making central yard stones years around them,
before them, behind them, a belly of stones centered through bearing.
I am thinking of tree balls,
root balls of trees. / Dogwoods close to the house.
Small trimmed boxwoods in front of the left
(road) fence, shielding / vegetables behind
the fence. Opposite the narrow walkway, planning
to widen for linked arms; / two or three
new dogwoods for the right
side, roses in front of the right
(road) fence. / One or two
dogwoods for the back yard,
hence the size of root balls. I would like /
a very large planter, elevated
in its own secure
platform near the deck stairs. /
(This is not Freudian.) I want to see
dogwood blossoms close to the deck
and the back / door. Also,
the flagpole in the vicinity
for beauty, seasons, and patriotism.
Today, thoughts of root balls / will
be investigative, unearthing small pin
oaks, possibly planting them equidistant
in the back, / or possibly planting one
in the center of the creek, or toward the bank.
The water will be greater / than the tree,
for a while anyway. I do not want to cut these down
and relegate / them to firewood. I know they are "messy"
tall trees as they grow up, but they have appeared /
where they are. They may
stay nearby.
I am of tree balls root
balls of trees / where they are
They may stay
nearby / Dogwoods close
to the house Small trimmed / trees as they grow up
but they have appeared / boxwoods
in front of the left (road) fence
shielding / firewood
I know they are "messy" tall / vegetables
behind the fence Opposite the narrow / I do not want to
cut these down and relegate / walkway
planning to widen for linked arms / than tree for a while
anyway / to or three new dogwoods
for the right side / or toward the bank
The water will be greater / roses in front
of the right (road) fence / or possibly planting on
in the center of the creek / one or two
dogwoods for the back yard / possibly planting them equi-
distant in the back / hence the size of root balls
I would like / will be
investigative unearthing small pin oaks / a very large planter
elevated in its own / seasons patriotism
today thoughts of root balls / secure
platform near the deck stairs / also the flagpole in
the vicinity for beauty / (This is not Freudian.) I want to
see / dogwood blossoms
close to the deck and the back
"Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forth to those things which are before,
I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."
I don't really want a prize, only friends and loving.
Still, the past continues to shape today. That is
a writer's hope. That the thing lingering
will be a story or a help, not
simply a character-
altering
moment, alive
as us continuing while
occurring in the moment passed.
The moment I refer to is a day when Jay and I are outside on a Saturday for a yard sale. In that moment, remaining was the difficult work, appearing something better than what was, and appearing much less than that, too. While out, a single mom and her two sons came to purchase a toy that belonged to my daughter. My daughter was selling it. The mother could not afford my daughter's price. It was not my item to dicker with, and I felt manipulated with pity for this single mother, desiring joy and a new toy for her sons. I wanted to give it to her, but it was not mine to give. In that moment, I hardened my heart, realizing that what I was doing, remaining in my home and marriage was every bit as hard as what she was doing. I did, finally, let her have the toy for less than my daughter wanted for it, and gave my daughter the full price. But I cannot think or accept for long that broken homes are "more vulnerable or more valuable" than homes that are fractured yet remain intact.
If I could, we would heal immediately. If I could have had enough moral support earlier, I would have begun again earlier, like the brave, single mom who came to buy a toy for her sons.
I cannot change that day. What I do this moment is share with readers, making witnesses to this event, and I trust God to heal it and bless it. I trust that women are precious to Him, to God; trust that He is not cold to frailty, whatever actions taken to rebuild within or remove to build something whole.
The most difficult thing for me remembering that day is that I failed to encourage and love my fellow woman, fellow mother, openly. I felt as broken, and discouraged from ever healing, as she who stopped by with her two small boys. I felt completely locked. And I did not realize until a little later that day that I had tightened my lock in not opening quickly with love to share with her and her sons. I was being a mother, too, protecting the request of my daughter.
I hope that mother I met that Saturday, who has not come by again, and who may remember me as stingy and cold-hearted, will forgive me. I hope she can be warm as the Saturday she stopped by. I extend myself to her and her family here, and I hope her sons and she are established and doing well. I pray that she will be able to extend compassion to me for that day, seemingly well in my life, but broken like her. I hope she forgives me for being slow to love.
No matter how many words I write, unless action follows to integrity and Christ-giving love, my lock will continue to be too tight to open easily.