bare footed on the sand. a poem.

My second novel, Then Sings My Soul, released in stores and online yesterday. The story is about a man at the end of his life and his daughter struggling to care for him, the two of them also struggling to make sense of the pain and shame in their lives. There’s a lot happening over on my Facebook page surrounding the release, including reviews and articles and such. So today, here on my blog, I thought I’d just share a few simple thoughts in a poem about the themes in this story, a story for anyone looking for hope in the midst of hard stuff, as well as wondering where is God in the midst of our stories.

On a related note, you might also want to catch might my new article in MTL Magazine about the plight of the aging and why it matters.

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What’s a life
anyway, besides a
skip, a stone smoothed
by the waters until
someone picks it up
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pebbles balanced
precarious on top of time
teetering against the tides that
come in and go out again and
we’re left
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squinting at the sunset wondering
where did the day go
how did evening settle
upon our bones
wearied without warning
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and finally we step bare
footed on the sand and realize we are
each of us
a grain
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mourning dove. a poem for the martyrs.

your cry cut through the empty
black morning, shuffling on
into another long day of wondering where
in the world is the hope?
surely even you had pounded your weary
wings against the hard cold, fleeing
from winter. but just when I wasn’t listening
i heard your lonely keen
a refrain I hardly realized I’d yearned for
until i heard you singing
again

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“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers,nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Romans 8:38-39 ESV

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*dedicated to the Coptic Christians and martyrs everywhere, and that each of us would be so brave when our time to stand for The Cross Draws nigh*

winter poem.

i
don’t mind
the cold days when winter covers
the heat smothering the
blinding sun with a mist-knit sweater
holding in hope and when at last
it lifts, the outline of
life sharpens
clear

*****
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