“Martha said to Jesus, 

“Lord, if you had been here, 

my brother would not have died.”

 

John 11:21

 

It is in what we anticipate, 

the grief in what we know.

 

It is a draining of the heart,

forgotten poetry that lingers 

in the hushed cellar of our minds. 

 

We lose sight of joy, pleasures tagged onto

other days when sunshine was brighter and movement uncomplicated. 

 

Then, we knew freedom,

uncolored, uncut glass that 

gave us the sky, blue 

and heavenward. 

 

We raced with what we knew, felt delicious grass under our feet, unconscious of the burden or threat of what time might bring. 

 

We were the Benighted Ones, Crowns of glory, 

Hopes ascending.

 

Time was eternal. 

Ambitions grew 

like wildflowers. 

 

Love was attached and 

unyielding and tomorrow 

was ours—and lasting.

 

Oh, Great Spirit,

God of the Solitudes 

and Silences, we assign 

to You life’s meaning.

 

We wait for your 

Promises to be kept. 

 

We offer our anger, fear,

sadness, raging confusion,

a torrent of tears—bereaved 

knife-wounding pain to You.

 

We wait and watch for 

a flicker of communion, 

hope, reunion. We lack 

an answer. We labor alone. 

 

It seldom occurs to us we 

are in the early morning 

hours, waiting for first-light 

to come upon us. 

 

In our sore tempest, 

we rarely think it is a Presence we might find 

rather than an Answer. 

 

And our timeline 

is not Yours. 

 

And from another sea, 

loved ones are 

already 

 

clamoring to 

come aboard 

to come

find us.