great commission…
The sin of greatest omission – to live
neither in nor of but merely on, to
refuse the world’s magic, eyes sewn
shut with fishing line, ears packed
tight with doctrine and twigs and
mud, a scarecrow’s existence always
haunted by the memory of Noah’s
raven that never returned.
But some speak of a redemption,
a thorn-sprigged hope if you dare:
commit, rip-stitch your eyes,
unpack your ears, lash yourself
to the charmed mast, whisper the
two-word incantation of saints -‘thank you.’
To get started memorize her body’s contours,
or learn to chew tobacco like your Pepaw,
or collect amber bottles to arrange on a
shelf just so beside the prints a friend
loaned but you never returned.
Thank you. I remember sneaking a chew of my grandpa’s tobacco. Once was enough. Thankful for that too.
Many thanks for the freshness you breathe into my spirit! May a fresh wind fill you as well.
Ah, one of my fondest memories of my Grandpa’s farm was sneaking his chewing tobacco and going outside the backyard to chew and spit with my sister. lol
Okay, that thing with the eyes was kinda graphic for me. 😉