My wish for you,
From the time the clock strikes twelve
And we are off and running,
Is tenderness.
I'm not sure why.
I've always thought of tenderness
As syrupy and insincere.
But something about the way it feels to me at forty-three
Speaks of gentleness:
In how life might treat us,
How we might treat ourselves,
And others.
There is so much suffering,
So much that chafes
And wears us down.
And wears us down.
Without seeing the slow, steady decline over the years
We find ourselves feeling small, disoriented, bewildered, barely able to remember
Who we once were
When strong, and beautiful and young.
Towards so much loss...
Tenderness, tenderness.
Now, the bullseye shifts.
Maybe downgraded.
We'll give up on fame and fortune and sex and adventure and
self-realization
And settle for a little tenderness.
For you,
I'll ask that friends just happen to call when you are down.
For you,
I'll ask that this silent, elusive God shows up with some words of
comfort.
For you,
I'll ask that there is a strong current to move you through life with
greater ease.
For you,
I'll ask that that the sharp edges don't scrape and puncture.
For you,
I'll ask that you cut yourself one more break.
For you,
I'll ask that you further the cycle of gentleness
By giving pause to your wrath.
For you,
This is my wish for a Year New.
It is so imperfect
It can only hint
At what is in my heart,
What wells up behind my eyes
What stings my face from the emotion that
Overflows from my heart.
My God,
There is so much imperfection here.
It is almost intolerable.
How can we survive it?
For we will need to, to survive ourselves.
Outside my window
The first big snow of the season.
The largest snowflakes I have ever scene
Falling before the streetlights.
I know there are times
When you felt like your soul
It was walking down a wintery road
In the cold, black, lonely of night.
I know there have been times
When you felt like
The only thing left of you
Were ragged scraps
Transported to the dessert
To tumble in a sandstorm
As the final act of humiliation.
We both know that something died in you.
It was put to the cross
And that is that.
Now comes the year of the arisen.
And that means You.
So let this be
A time for celebration
And wine
And feasting
And lovemaking well into the morning
Where great and joyful works await you.
You have paid dearly.
So, for God's sake, enjoy what you have earned.
You are the phoenix,
The lamb that returned lion,
And I name this year after you.
