Wounds in Messiah Sandals
You almost let us fall in love with you again
but we know better now
instead we bear witness
a few thousand miles between us and heartache
When we were children
we let you just close enough to catch the whirlwind off your one man circus
shards of glass and old spoons sputtering in your wake
I didn’t know then what sober looked like
only the moments between your daze and terror
On a good day:
we’d build wooden airplanes under oak trees
discover new worlds in tadpole ponds
when you were good, you were God
More often you’d sit in still darkness with hooded eyes
I’d come to your knee and work up the courage to ask what’s wrong
choking on my words
spit it out, you’d say
you wouldn’t answer til I got my sentence perfect
When I was brave
I told you jokes to bring you back to us
you never laughed but you blinked your hazel eyes
kind and full of ghosts
The last time I saw you
I asked if you kept the old habits
you smiled without teeth and said
the best place to hide track marks is between your toes
you wear your wounds so plain in your messiah sandals
I thought that you knew better
but I never could look down to see for myself
When granddaddy died last spring
you drove us to the sand flats behind the old church
and we stood in the shade of Spanish moss
the last good man, you said
between drags of a Camel cigarette
that may be true
but we can still inherit the earth
it’s not too late for us
we could walk on water with you
if you let us
if you wanted
I said you could raze the earth with your words
if you wanted
but you pass days in between sleep and smoke
and wading into that warm river
Oblivion
We’ve mourned you since your first scratch
but you’re still here, a faint whisper
an unsteady heartbeat kicking around sand dunes and palmetto bugs
and I’m still that scared child at her father’s knee
too afraid to get the words wrong
Now you’re sitting in a plastic chair in the shadows of granddaddy’s garage
holding court with your demons
I’m sorry we don’t know how to reach you there
we could try harder, if we were brave
we would sit at your feet and listen
your mute disciples
appointed by some kind God to keep vigil of his son
Before it’s too late
let me hold your broken body full of holes like Jesus
and let me catch the sun rays straining through your skin like bible paper
You’re an old man now
too old for these party tricks
we shouldn’t let you in
I’ll always let you in
call home sometime