On This Night

Tonight Christians 

dip bread in wine

contemplate Good Friday,

and the crucified Messiah

Tonight Jews

tell the  story of fleeing Egypt

They pour a cup of wine 

for Elijah and wait 

for the Messiah

At that confluence 

between arrived and waiting—

in that space 

the Last Supper

and Passover  Seder 

lived as one —for a brief meal

Tonight another confluence

I stand with a foot

in two stories

Instructions to Myself

I stay tethered when walking

where brambles send out

tentacles and the suck of the sea

pulls sand into waves

that carve letters onto a beach

eroded by storms 

I remain on firm ground

Find flowers in rock cracks

and reflections in ponds

sprouting water lilies

I stay wary of the voice calling

to follow a different path

and remain where light ignites

each footfall and path 

The Kiss

Did you ever travel after your own words?  Say or write something and then discover that what you conjured up can be followed and then new paths discovered.

It’s as if I expose something new when I trail behind my words -picking up pieces and seamlessly fitting them together.

Recently I wrote about a dip in a road— not a new road or a flat road, but one that was pock marked, weathered, and tilted.

I unearthed a memory. Brushed it off  and rotated it so I glimpsed all facets. The road dipped  into a manmade holler and up again to flat ground. In that dip between I found myself. A short intimate moment. And when I read the words I wrote , looking at myself looking at me I followed my words to the end of that path.

I had found a missing puzzle piece.