A Rainstorm Is Near
What strokes the heart, bridges the tears?
A rainstorm is near; I can touch it.
His shoulder’s a rock that bears my weight.
My heartbeat’s in the air - its peaks and valleys.
A blossoming umbrella crowns my head,
holds me steady. My smile’s underneath,
though buried in the kiss on her forehead,
the last “I love you’s,” my palm on her heart.
A chihuahua under her bed - nestled in her sheets
when she speeds to the emergency room.
What will the old blond do when she is gone -
her one eye open then forever closed?
Yet hope arises…she will life forever
in our Savior’s embrace - the rock of ages
will reunite her with her grandson -
oh how whole, how full, how courtly
and bright after the long kiss goodnight.
Still, her bouquet of daughters
will reel, having recently lost
the appeal to God of too many close relatives.
Their home t’will be vacant
of her encouraging words, starved
of her presence, deadpan, and hollow.
The nurse took care of them for so long -
in sickness and health, through divorce,
widowhood and transplant. Her faith planted
on the solid ground of Christ -
may they embrace the trace of life.
For me, my spouse’s minute kindness -
I lean on the bough as he shock-absorbs
my grief, and I prepare my mind
for an upcoming wake which I
will not awaken from, except for hope,
glorious hope, in the risen Dayspring.
8/3/2022
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