When I received a snowflake
on my tongue
Someone whispered
“Body of Christ.”
“Amen” I said.
When I received a snowflake
on my tongue
Someone whispered
“Body of Christ.”
“Amen” I said.
It is tall
and stretches to the heavens.
It is solitary and strong.
The leaves unfurl late
and wither early
with fashion and grace.
They dangle around
the solstice
like light green earrings.
Its bark breaks
at the hips
and peels
to reveal a smooth
decoupage of earthy pastels.
Tan and light brown on ivory
are the shades of color
I long to climb.
Those branches are beyond reach
and slippery as silk.
I will look up through the freckled limbs though,
and see clouds passing
like time,
and sky, blue, unending
like a patch of eternity.
What remains of my mother will be placed deep
into the humus to compost
with shards of fallen bark.
Death on death will serve nutrients into the roots.
I am thankful for place,
this place.
I will visit
and till memories into the soil
and grow up
again and again.
Your eyelashes moved the
air between us.
The lids which carried them
would swing open and shut…
open and shut.
And there, soft blue would
circle the light within you.
That little light of yours
that did shine…
did shine on us.
When we were with you
lower loves were called up
to the higher one.
Agape’ would surface…
it would surface in us.
Your family would see
your smiles spread across.
Sometimes you would
lend them to the rest of us…
to rest on us.
A language from above
you would speak.
A coo of your own tongue
would rise with our questions…
rise above our questions.
Without a first step,
without a framed embrace,
without a formed word,
you spoke to our lives…
spoke into our lives.
And we slowed down
down to our being
where the still small voice is
that voice you heard
that voice we hear.
And when sleep came,
it came so sweetly and
air slipped in and out and
God held our breath…
God held our breath.
For the Webb family
in honor of Aiden Josiah Webb
April 1st 2011
© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.