Thursday Poem: A Musician's Life

Tuesday
felt the doubt creep in

Walked away
from everything safe

Benefits of peace of mind
doctor visits
tooth pain
of not hearing reprimands for not having
all of the above

Tuesday
needed the wind
and the clouds
to give rest from the worry.

Today is different.

Patty sings
of work-weary sons
fathers, walked on to the other side
and that kind of lonely.

And I know
I know
that all of this matters
more than many will understand

Until the dark hour
when they lay on their bed
climbing stairs in their mind
stairs to nowhere
stuck in their mistakes
and reminded of grace

From one song
one voice
that refused listen to the voices
that said, "This is not safe."

After all
we do this because
this is not safe.

Thursday Poem: What Keeps Me

Escape the lights,
camera,
action.

Retreat to the oneness,
piano,
empty,
yet full.

Sunlight
through pieced-together glass,
colors bright.
Warmth.

We need not add much;
it is simple here.
Small in number, we are.
Names we know.
Faces we recognize,
on that backdrop
of colored glass.

Awkward,
imperfect,
faithful.
In song,
in repetition,
in the words of saints and sinners.

A table
chalice... the blood;
bread... the body;
need - this is our need.

Not sometimes
but all the time.

I did not choose you;
yet, you choose me.
Savior.
Bride.

Both of you, mystery to me.

Running
often seems desirable.
To something less complicated,
something more clean.

But I know
less complicated
I will not find
Less complicated
is still need for the
Saving One.

So, I stay.

Grandfather

Little children came and grew

Moved away and never knew

Who I was or who I am

No they never knew this lonely man
("Faithful Son" by Patty Griffin)

**I didn't want to walk through that door, didn't want to cross the threshold into your world or harsh opinions and unwelcome criticism.

Home from college for the weekend, it was the last thing I wanted to do, spend time with you. We'd sit in your living room, the television our background noise, while you asked me obligatory questions and I gave you as truthful and polished answers as I could.

There was a time before that, high school, where we had that parade. Remember that one? You were mad at me. I chose a friend over you. I think it was silly. Except now, I think it was silly on both of our parts.

We didn't get this way overnight. We both know it was 18 years in the making.

Do you remember the time you grabbed me by the shoulders and marched me to the back to raise your voice at me? Did I even know what I'd done wrong. You were quick to punish; reluctant to listen. I remember. I listened to every word you did and did not say. We all did.

And that is why, on those weekends home, I did not want to see you.

But life had not been kind. Your years were longer and harder than mine will ever be.

I did not know that then. I know that now.

_________________________

Your garden was the fruit of your labors. The corn grew tall. The potatoes grew deep and large. The peas, we shelled on the back porch, with the sun shining through.

The floors we walked, the walls that kept us, the shrimp in the fryer, these were the fruit of your years of hard work, your years of proving to yourself and to everyone else just how hard work can be and how good the reward.

Those are good memories, now that I can see through those first years after you were gone. I can remember them again.

My 28-year old self knows what my 18-year old self did not know - that you gave us what you could, you gave us what you had to give. There are a great number of things about you that we'll never know. Pain and tears and joy and secrets and things of which I am sure you were ashamed.

And I never would tell you then

So I never will tell you now

All the things that break an old man down

The real truth is, I don’t know how

("Faithful Son" by Patty Griffin)

I am learning to love you now, by this grace that comes only through the time and space of years and silence. And I am remembering, more clearly, that you did love us. You did often beam with pride when talking to others about us, and you gave to use the the things you knew, the things you took a lifetime to learn.

My own regrets rise to the surface, too. That I did not take so many more things you would have given. That I did not yet know grace in a true enough way to extend it towards you.

And so I know that I, too, will spend a lifetime learning to love.

(**I sat on the couch today, listening to Patty Griffin's new album "American Kid", and cried. I could see my grandfathers so clearly. They are gone now. But I can beginning to see them more clearly, now, than I ever did before.)