What Shapes We Might Take
three poems about transformation
What Shapes We Might Take We are the penny candy that still cost a penny five decades ago. The Indian kids stood in polite lines in Irene's Grocery Store to choose among their favorites then took us home, not to devour, but to keep uneaten and pristine and present us to the world as the best evidence that sweet- ness can be saved. The Maintenance of Grief Our father planted that willow in our front yard in 1972. I love to pretend that he's become that tree because it's much easier to mourn the dead when you transform them into something that's still alive. Genesis I'm married to a woman who, once a month, bakes the bread for Eucharist. Of course, the bread only becomes Jesus' body after it's blessed by the priest but I think the bread is also blessed by my spouse when she kneads the dough. Yes, this is how our ordinary house is sometimes a sacred kitchen. But, then again, maybe every kitchen is sacred. Maybe every piece of bread is a sacrament. Maybe I'll pause for a longer moment the next time that I find myself in the bread aisle in the supermarket. Maybe I'll give thanks for every harvest. Maybe I'll thank every seed that began its life as star dust.
Thanks! My father planted several trees and even after he moved from the house he would check on them now and then. Each house a tree planted. He had no qualms in going up to the front door and saying I used to live here and planted that tree in the backyard can I see it. I wound not be surprised if he has come back as a tree.
Yes! Every kitchen is sacred. Every sweetness is priceless. Every tree leads to our roots.