Let’s Pretend
Each morning I arise and pretend
that I’m alive.
It’s a good way to start the day
even though the heartbeat’s a little slower,
the blood a little thinner
and the appetite fails completely.
Putting on shoes and clothes is an act of faith
that I will last out the day.
Swallowing pills is an act of trust
that my cardiologist knows what he’s doing.
Going to the bathroom
seems a waste of time.
I pretend that breakfast is nourishing.
I pretend the sun is shining.
I pretend that the clocks are working.
Nothing deters my imagination
as I sweep my porch,
collect the mail and pay my bills
As if I had all time before me
And it was just another day
out of a multitude of days.
Which it is
except each one could be my last one.
“Let’s pretend,” I say to myself,
“that I have a future.
Let’s pretend that there is much to be done
and that there is time for the doing.”
As I pretend,
I remind myself
not to buy new socks,
not to check out long books from the library
and never to buy green bananas.
Imago Dei
I’ll bet He doesn’t
take diuretics and beta blockers
for barely living through chemistry.
I’ll bet He doesn’t
walk three miles a day
to keep His blood pressure down.
I’ll bet He doesn’t
have mitral valve prolapse.
Even if He doesn’t
eat no salt,
Even if He doesn’t
eat no fat,
Even if He doesn’t
Drink no beer,
Does He have to tolerate
the frantic growth
of mysterious lumps
on His aging body?
Does He have to wash
three times a day
to delete his odors?
Does he have to guess
at words
because of eye fatigue?
I’ve never heard
that His joints
creak when He walks.
I’ve never read
that His legs
cramp when He sits.
I’ve never even dreamed
that His heart rattles
when He lies down.
Imago Dei?
Says who?
The Wonderful Circus
The foul rag-and-bone shop
of the heart
is no place to end it all.
To want to conclude a life
in waste and garbage
is hardly worth living for.
Why not end it all
in the gracious throne-and-scepter chancel
of a living God
Where old, bearded men
sit on golden thrones
and all the blessed angels
dance around in worship
and babble in all the tongues
known to man,
Where the Alpha and the Omega smile
down upon the ascending voices,
Where there is no translation
because all speak in tongues
that everyone understands?
Why not end in the New Jerusalem
where all the saints speak
lines that are immortal
and no one ever forgets anything?
Why not end on the four and twenty
golden thrones
and sing out eternity
rather than rot among rags and bones?
All scepters now accepted.
All orbs now abundant.
All crowns now donned
by all those friends
whose lives were yours,
who made a world possible,
who created the golden lamps,
the blasting trumpets and the overrunning bowls
and whose writing counted most.
No desertions for me at last.
Just celebration that I had such friends.
I want to lie down now
where all those friendships began.
I want to lie down
in the beauty of the word.