For Amy

Have you ever seen God's hands, when he gardens?

calloused palms and chocolate fingertips, they trail soil and grassy smells as his fingerprints brush your cheek

and whisper

i love you, child.

I imagine he doesn't wear gloves, today,

as he digs and plants

on one knee and carefully,

placing roots, and lifting new leaves,

gently tending us just right.

Sometimes those skilled hands of his slow and he sits down beside me.

Father, is that you?

we ask as our plans rearrange

as we are uprooted and carried across the garden,

as our troubles soothe

as our dried-out days are given - miraculously -

a sweet drip line of living water. 

Some days it rains

and we tip our mouths up and shut our eyelids and 

whisper back, 

thank you -

now i am in the rows of green, watching for him  

i know if i am listening, i'll hear his nearness

if i am looking, i'll find his footprints

his hand shovel

he tends to be right in front of me, smiling with his eyes -

I am here, in this garden, and 

he is here, in this garden, with me.

Sunday Morning Susie

Did grandpa come to get you Were there roses in your hair?

on Sunday mornings.

Back before all this, when you first met, where there still

flower-printed dresses,

Did your hands shake

holding his, grandpa

in slacks, glasses on his nose and he smiled to see you

he must have tapped you on the other shoulder in the pews

He took you to the real church this morning, didn’t he?

Picked you up early – 5:46 – you were sleeping 

got an early start, so you could smell roses and greet people on the way 

be there for prelude music 

and after all these years, he must have carried you in his arms

Real church. in the 

Real place.

the cloudy one i don’t remember, but

warm clear light do i smell

seashells and joy do i hear

someone I’d forgotten nearby

standing straighter

school's out & we're 

(right,)

young again 

and there are

so many togethers no more pain

Grandma, is that you looking around for an organ?

you are peering down at us,

Thank you, whispering to your children

you've gone, on a date with dad and it's about time

What do you do on Sundays

in heaven,

Grandma?

Strong feet now, no more falls

peace, 

pieces of living 

bread, on a tray, I had them today 

and as you sat in church this morning, 

i am wondering 

and still wondering,

I’m wondering –

what did you see?

no. i don’t understand how your day has been but 

I     wonder 

if there was a palm

fingerprinted and warm 

(pierced)

Did he hold out living bread and water, to you

no tiny cups and trays this time.

he must have smiled deeply to see you,

enough room in his hug for you and all of you besides.

Now its sunday afternoon. 

Is grandma Susie still sick? my small son asks.

no. She’s all better now. 

I kneel down, so he can see my eyes.

saturday today

There are moments I want to remember forever

You and you are sitting on the back porch steps. Blonde hair, small heads, small boys, rubber garden gloves and small shovel- rakes and sunshine, 

and you

In a cloud of walnut sawdust, bent over a router, the sawdust in the air like snow and the air is warm and nutty and your arms and hands are covered in tiny intoxicating wood shavings

I will not take a picture of my husband because I want to remember the walnut smell --strong-- in the half-dark and the sound of the router and the sawdust as you bend over the jewelry holder you are making for me

We are in the garage, at night, 

And the first memory was earlier today

The first day of spring, and we smelled blossoms this morning and Jesse held a small pink one in his hands and brought it to his nose, again and again

And you, Willy, you are learning and there is so much of it to do. You gave each of your cousins and friends gift bags with slinkies and stuffed animals and a small, red-wrappered chocolate with peanut butter inside, and when you accidentally went off the rock jump that none of the older boys would touch, you cried but said right away, “I want to keep biking” and we all have accidents and sometimes we have four, like today, but next time we will do without the shame. 

We are learning too, you and I, you and I.

refined

 These are the moments I am holding in my hands.

They are slipping, fragile

through my fingers like soup and sunshine

offering them up to you, God,

what can you make of this life?

My toddler son and I biking in the Texas desert, to picnics, he is small and I am with him, him and me and sage and bunnies, and daddy's planes up above

I want to be the kind of mom kids wish they had.

He was young and the memory is gentle in my chest, warm and golden sunsets

Even though there must have been loneliness, and fear,

i don't see it

Will you

Refine

My life

Friend

Like you've refined those memories?