Approaching Gale
After Reading November for Beginners by Rita Dove
The dream of snow is a relief
In it’s own
These burning fall leaves
Are far too harsh compared to ice
There are too many of them
Too much
Snow is a secret
Blanket to cover the crunching
Brown leaves like dirt
Soggy and frail
In the ongoing autumn rains
Melting them into the earth
The music of the sun’s rays
Crisp the air
Beat the people
Sweat spilling from their foreheads
As they dance in the light
Dreaming of snow to cool
Their tired burning bodies
Stings of Sin
Where does it hurt when I lie?
Is it in the piercing pain of thorns weaved
around your forehead with red truth sliding down
Is it the acidic taste of flame
raging in the dissolved vinegar eating
thousands of bumps on your tongue
Is it in the open slit of your side
where a sea of blood and water
spilled like the downward stream of a waterfall
Is it in the holes in your
hands and feet formed by rusted
iron pushed and twisted into cedar wood?
Savior, what does the sting of sin
feel like? Where does it hurt most? And
where are halos found among martyred men?
My Papa’s Hands
I remember your hands
The most
Labor-worn and never smooth
They were large hands
Fit for a lumberjack
Yet old and wise
Never withered
Strength within each
Groove and wrinkle
Though gentle when you’d
Lead me through
Your colorful spring garden
Blues
Pinks
Purples
All bright in my youthful eyes
You’d take me there just to see
My smile
I was there but a flower bud
Soaking in this day like water
