Just across the fire place and
generational divide sits a
white haired Indy 500 watching immigrant Italian
flanked by his chicken preparing wife whose
dressed in black and white linen, in the kitchen.
Today, after reading (rather poor) exegesis
on the book of Jonah by a Mennonite pastor
from Canada, I decided to go buy my own Bible
but I couldn’t find anything pocket size or
outside of the KJV genre (which Wade likes these days, but
I’m still suspect).
Last night, just across the country and
telephone line my soul mother
Maria reached her magic-wand fingers
into my desperately needy ears
and cleared the cobwebs of overly-cautious
pre-cancellation ideas away by saying
“swinging from deep disgust to complete
desire for union is what intimacy is.”
I peel potatoes for the black and white linen wearing
womyn in the kitchen after exiting the couch where
the recently purchased medium sized NIV sits turned to
the book of Jonah which took me by surprise
not by the whale
nor the unanticipated repentance and pardon of Nineveh,
but the untouched vine.
“It sprang up overnight and died overnight” saith the Lord.
Remember back in the sandbox
when those first few pushes between the shoulders
quickly propelled us to the highest of heights, both backwards and forwards?
Remember when those highest of heights, both backwards and forwards
were the moments we lived for, not the moments we froze in?
Our prayer then: please don’t let it stop.
Our prayer now: please make it stop.
Mario Andretti flips his car in the rain.
Lincoln calls from Dodger Stadium; they’re down 0-1 in the 8th.
The chicken in the kitchen smells soul-full.
These things sprang up overnight and will die overnight.
Such a swing set is this: this is what intimacy is.
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