Like the trees
a poem
I took a walk down the gravel drive Past the Scrub Oaks and Ghost Pine My dad, a carpenter, recalled the Hemlock and Douglas Fir Two trees, though similar, respond differently to the builder One will bear the driven nail Strong but tender, it absorbs the blows The other splits when pierced Hardened, it cracks under the hammer My mother’s leg fractured after her heart rhythm converted Now she can’t bear the weight of her own pressure My prayers and thoughts are thorny and hollow Haunted like the trees bent, and knotted Pontifications abound as we make our way home We’re all pundits for our side of the road We’ve forgotten our lack Hardened and splintered, bearing our crosses Like the trees we don’t know how to pray Lest the Spirit blows through our frame My only opinion piece is a groaning How long, Oh Lord? How long?
My brother is working on a How Long, O Lord choral lament. It’s stunning. Jesus is with you.