taken from my grad school submissions

Ending Song of my Heart

I tied my life to a fishing line,

let it blow and lapse over

the edge of the boat, slipping

on waves that bent their heads

to mine. I watched

it fold into the water

so quickly,

and tenderly

the line plucked

and quivered on my heart—

for I had tied it fast

and tenderly to my watchful heart.

Blind in her ivory sea,

my heart tugged back

as though to signal

to my lifeline, strung

so precarious

into the sea.

I waited.

At last when the sun went down

the quivering stopped

and silently

my fishing line

remembered how to sleep.

For once I did not dream

Instead I counted pebbles

on my eyes, urging dark to lapse

and day to catch me up.

Nothing made a sound

except the quivering waves,

the practiced pace

of the sleeping sea.

Before I forgot my name

I carved it into a stone

and cast it

into the water

after my fishing line.

Nameless then, all

I had was depth—

profound and warming dark.

My heart

had long ago

resigned itself

to silence, succumbing

to the ceaseless murmur

all below.

Almost in memory,

I pulled

upon my fishing line,

but no response.

My fingers, perhaps,

were too cold or dreaming.

From within the dark,

I heard a ship pass, laden

with music, great with light.

And almost I saw

the lights expand before

the gentle sound of water lapping

at my fishing line

reminded me to sleep, forget

my heart.

mother leaving for prayer meeting

this is where           the dish towels go

on the left            under the washclothes

fold them so            leave that one out

to dry                 on the hook

the dishes                    can dry themselves

make sure              the cutting board leans

against the coffee pot              fold the rag

over the sink                         and turn all the spoons down

so the water doesn’t                stain

this is how            to make the coffee two

or three spoonfuls                of the grounds

one tablespoon            of cinnamon

or hazlenut           the filters

are in the pantry          draw the water

and measure it            in the cups one

spoonful for each        cup make sure

the pot is firmly              under the spout

this is what            the lord says

honor your mother         and father

keep the sabbath         don’t lie

or think badly            of others

have faith            and he will keep you

i’ve left             some cookies for your lunch

in the tupperware        on the microwave

don’t take        too many—I counted them

back to work last night; felt really good

December: Kitchen Prayer

Dish soap

clean rags

bleach white counter

eggs in a bowl

folded cabinet doors

upturned cup

on the stove

tea leaves

hanging in the air

roses strung

on white lines

of faith

still

kneading air

folded in white

linen in the cabinet

silver in the drawer

blue crocks

with wooden spoons

worn brown bowl

garlic sweet

tomatoes from the yard

light

the small candle

on the shelf

votive voca me

voca me

cum benedictus

amen