There were men made old by time only
Thoughts and eyes clear and seeing
And soft wives sitting beside them
Their whole form a delicate sigh.
They’d talk and life moved in ordered ways
And no one refused a piece of cherry pie because of gluten.
Their lives had breathing room
Twinkies didn’t bear a load of guilt, bad parenting, toxicity, nor politics. They were a dessert. Go figure.
You could be sure when the new dad proclaimed “It’s a boy!” that it was a statement and not a guess.
Every pillar hadn’t been rattled yet
Every ancient belief hadn’t been shouted down and reviled.
They didn’t know the darkness their grandchildren would know
But they see it now
Their breath catches
and they see it now.
How the public square isn’t a square at all, no straight lines, no corners,
A circle, a smooth circle where the idea can echo back to itself forever without a stray hit nor odd angle.
All edges were curved, see, by force, see, and the corners bashed inward.
It took time but mostly we were asleep, the church snoring loudest.
We awoke to the circle and some cried out
and the man and his wife shake their gray heads
and watch Jeopardy.
I am angled,
I am not easy, and I am not asleep.
Dear church, Go and sin no more.
Sleep no more, die no more.
Be shaped by the cross, by the Word made flesh
be shaped by the world,
by the circle that will smile on you and pat your ever-yessing head
give up the name then;
don’t drag that beautiful, loaded name through that mud. Christian, little Christ.
fully, if you’d rather be smiled at than mocked
give up the name.