{A Poem In Which the Apostle John Speaks of Sheep and Imagination}

3 The sheep know the shepherd’s voice; the shepherd calls them by name and leads them out. 4 Having led them all out of the fold, the shepherd walks in front of them and they follow because they recognize the shepherd’s voice. (The Inclusive Bible, John 10.3-4)

Imagine a sheep –
small body, small life.
The fur: fuzzy and clumped.
The hooves: scratched and tough.
The nose: wet and dark.
The belly: smooth and mottled.
The eyes: focused.

Imagine a shepherd –
bigger body, small life.
The hair: tangled and long.
The arms: dark and freckled.
The fingers: nimble and experienced.
The voice: known and knowing.
The eyes: leading.

Imagine the connection.
Just, for a second – imagine.

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{24 May 2018}

I’m washing the dishes with Gilmore Girls playing on my laptop
which is sitting on an overturned pan on top of the microwave.
The rain outside is the kind of rain that is constant, more than
a drizzle but less than a pour.
My hands are a little cold from the water and the suds and
I’m thinking about how lucky I am and, staring out the window
to the rain falling on the green fields,
I can see my life stretched before me like a ribbon.
I’m waving at my future self

who is also standing with her hands in a sink in front of
a window as she washes dishes.
Rain falls on her garden and she remembers
how this moment felt, when she
saw that everything was glowing,
that the shimmer of joy gleaming on the edge of the dripping dishes
was a gift she did nothing to deserve.

{5 May 2018}

I’m thinking that today I don’t have a poem to write but the sun flashes
across the train tracks on the other side of my eyelids and
the words of a book pour into my ears and

I think about my friends and
their hearts and
they keep saying to me we are here with their smiles and
piano-playing fingers and

my face feels warm with a sunburn that will bloom tomorrow and
food offered to me in kindness is still on my tongue and
the sky is as blue as I imagine it to be and
the sun will go down late tonight after I’ve had a cup of rooibos tea with honey and
the spiders outside have begun spinning their new home and

I will climb into bed and
I will rise and
begin again and
I am still pretending that I don’t have a poem to write.