1. THE TIME SADIE AND I TALKED ON THE STOOP
Took a late walk last night,
saw Sadie on her apartment stoop
at the end of our block.
I nodded.
She nodded
and patted the stoop on her right.
Come here, she said. Why? I asked.
I have some thoughts to tell you
(something she often says)
and maybe a question or two
before you amble off
into the night.
I sat. Sadie’s hair was down
and carried the scent of Chai Tea.
Ok Sadie I said, shoot.
She pointed at the sky
(something she does a lot),
Did you ever wonder, she asked,
if those are stars or the eyes
of wild animals coming to life
in the blackness?
All the time, I said.
Every night, I said.
Never, I said. (Something I say a lot)
Remember when we were kids?
Remember our stupid cowgirl outfits?
Remember looking for ladybugs?
Sure, I said.
So what? Why remember?
If we remember, will it stave off death?
Sadie sighed. I couldn’t tell
if she was tired or bored.
I wasn’t giving the right answers.
Sadie, I said, I’m tired
of the aluminum dusk of every day;
it criticizes my non-productive hours.
The sun, burnt orange
as it goes down
makes fun of me.
I’m afraid of aging and death.
Sadie looked out at the night.
I think I finally understand death, she said.
If you make enough mistakes at any job
you’ll be fired–taken off the rolls
and sent away to who-knows-where.
Maybe, she smiled, Purgatory
is simply collecting
unemployment benefits for eternity.
I ought to be getting home, I said.
I have wine upstairs, said Sadie.
Then let’s drink, I said, and we stood up.
In Sadie’s tiny kitchen, the light was yellow,
the wine was cold, the crackers were fresh,
and unemployment benefits waited somewhere else.
2. THE REASON FOR INDULGENCES
It’s too regular,
never a surprise.
Dusk I mean–
blurred, grainy,
the light hanging
with a death grip
on the tops of buildings
as if it would not
have another chance
to shine.
Maybe it won’t.
There’s something
not unlike purgatory
in the pewter skies.
I see, off the front steps
of my home,
the reasons for Indulgences.
I ask for them.
I want to reduce
the amount of punishment
I’ll have to accept
as payment for my sins.
This is what dusk speaks of:
loss, weakness, and trouble ahead.
Does this seem grim to you?
It does to me.
Twilight’s gray-water sky
is actually a river
choked by fallen branches
and fallen leaves
and fallen angels.
If light is to flow again,
it will be in the morning–
the lace of leaves and palm fronds
welcoming and arranging it
to no particular purpose.
3. DANGERS, TOILS, AND SNARES
In this lifetime, I have watched for God everywhere (almost):
in alleys and at the top of escalators in Beverly Hills malls,
in countless episodes of eros–eyes and arms, lips and earlobes.
And, I have searched for grace in those same, scented paths.
I have looked for amazing grace in America outside the wars
which continue and continue to continue until I have lost count.
I have talked with some good people, bought groceries,
sorted laundry and fed cats and still found myself anchorless,
wandering in mind and soul, shell shocked and prayerful,
at the mercy of climate change and government.
I have stared at this country and it has stared back at me,
arching its back, scratching at the hem of my BoHo dress,
hissing and growling when I haven’t paid it enough attention,
biting and clawing, drawing undistilled blood when I have.
Throughout, I have looked for God (and added to his wealth),
and done the same for country. But, the debacles continue;
they drown the acts of kindness and contrition alike.
Tom Robbins tells us: If it is committed in the name of God or country,
there is no crime so heinous that the public will not forgive it.
I say “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,”* and continue the search.
*Amazing Grace, a hymn. Lyrics by John Newton (1725-1807)