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Is This

IS THIS...?             Poem 8/17/

Written for Jim Eslinger , 37-year anniversary

What are these specks we must trudge over, 
Transplanting ourselves from one wilderness to
Another?  Is this sand?  Granting no foothold.  No
Staid nor staying place where rain comes as
A  regular blessing.  No relief from blasting sun.
Grains that may never be eaten.  Just
A dry lament of our planet earth.


Is this a pebble?  One of trillions
Carelessly trampled by us or flushed along by
The rain, discarding it to the side by
A clump of earth to linger til the next move,
Then go crackling, gossiping along with 
Further swarms of cousins, all sorts of the broken
— Agate, granite, quartz, sandstone, serpentine —
Scurrying.  Places to go!  Spaces to fill!

So, on this road, is this a larger pebble?  A stone?
Yes!  A stone, indeed, although this one you hold
Refuses to be cast ahead or behind
And has shed its moss — lush as it was —
Preferring the choice to lie still and await the turns
  Of a wealth of weather over its layers, to
Grow smoother into the stories of earth...
And await, once more the striking need of a David.

Is this, then, not a rock?   But, I wonder, because
When inclined to my ear, it seems to be
Crying out with a longing — unknown to me.  Still,
Like other rocks, it would not fit into a child’s pocket,
But could be a paperweight, or even a doorstop,
Or, as for centuries, a destructive weapon... And yet, Sinultaneously, it is the very symbol of Christ, our
Solid center of peace, the foundation of all love.

What of this?  A crag?  What of it?
A crag will not bear being alone,
Is not smooth, and abides in a thrust of fear of
Separation, of falling, of losing touch with
Its only known grasp of a home.  This crag, perhaps,
Was once itself a grasp for cliff-climbers, but split,
Cracked at its center, dropped with no significance,
Impacting a mound as a rock:  to fear another fall.


What of this?  A boulder?  This great mass, especially
Dark gray as an edge of death.  Forbidding.  Yet, 
There on top sits Adam with jumbled questions in 
Mind, while still searching the clouds for answers as
Weighty as his seat on a boulder of godly issues.  
Boulders dwell as trifles among mountains, or in
Forgotten quarries; or may lay out beyond, dressed With Petroglyths. etched speech, vision by vision.


Then this...a mountain?  So worthy that we 
Must always lift our chins and open our eyes to see
Its peaks?  Although it would bow and melt like wax
In the presence of the Lord.  Even we, with faith
Measured as mustard seeds, could command it to 
Move!  From breaking and crashing plates, this high
Rising of nature  hopes to touch the creator, in
All thanksgiving for its beauty as a place of prayer.

Smashing, colliding, folding, spinning:
Uncertain but still solid...Is this a parcel of
Our earth’s so very varied crust?  Which
Has held up our temples throughout our lives
And daily quakes our hearts and minds?
Oh, mother earth, tempting us to know of
Your core.  You were created by intent to edify
And inlaid in eloquence of a radiant purpose.
**********.         ***********          ************

(C) sally Young eslinger
Thanks be to God!


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Copyright © Sally Eslinger | Year Posted 2020

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