The Theology of Mind and Grind
three poems
The Theology of Mind and Grind Mornings, I still read the newspaper— the tangible copy that wrinkles and catches the drops of coffee that fall from my mug. Yes, I read the tangible newspaper while sipping black coffee when it's hot and then bigger sips as it cools and then that last drink of cold coffee, that last bitterness that tastes like every dark secret suddenly exposed. Yes, I read the newspaper and drink coffee so strong that only I find it necesary— I read about the world then walk out into that world with a slight jump- iness that feels like I've partaken in one half of a grounded Eucharist.
Streetlight People On an outdoor basketball court, barely lit by one streetlight, I saw an Indian boy take a high-arcing jumpshot, hit a bat in flight, and send it fluttering dead to the asphalt. It was an accident, yes, but we felt weirdly blessed by the impossibility of it. I'd love to say that we Indian kids grieved for that bat. But we didn't. Basketball was the most sacred thing in our lives so we kicked that animal off the court and continued our game.
The Atheist's Prayer Dear God, I believe in so many people who believe in God. I'm happy to kneel in their steeple. And, yes, I know that's odd.
Ah, newspapers. The quiet of silent reading, the ability to easily skip over ads, articles of no interest, find the ones that matter to you, not be distracted by voices, sounds of any kind, hearing the words in your own head, in your own way. How I miss it.
Your habit of coffee drinking and my habit of coffee drinking match, so was glad to read a poem about it.