Mother Lion
Desert God, Yahweh,
whose paws carved
a nation
whose wings
and winds whirled across
vast plains on incomprehensible
history
who loved and was
betrayed
and loved still
roared still
who called, punished,
called, made promises,
sent plagues,
dictated chiseled commandments
whose paw
reaches through pages
and over time
to wrap me into a warm
and protective embrace.
Tree of Life
I remember that old tree
from my youngest days
winding its way up out of the earth
it wasn’t pretty
dripping resin, and a deep
round knot curling
right at its middle
One of my (many) aunts
told me about the Tree of Life
connecting it to a colorful
picture in a children’s book
and I imagined this was it
not even very far from my
childhood home
why, after all, would God
not be my next-door neighbor?
I imagined then
what heaven might be like
starting to think of angels
and celestial beings.
Will
I do not know
the perfect will of God
for my life or yours
I do not have the map
laid out in broad strokes
of clear blue ink
Maybe I will be a writer
tomorrow
or a teacher
or a sailor of some
unknown lake
Maybe I will float
on my back and learn how
to look at the stars
without wincing
But I do know
that the will of the Father
is that we be kind
that we dig our hands
into the soft earth of what
it means to love
I do know that it is the desire
of my Lord
that I support with my words
So maybe that’s not political
or fiery or fervent
Maybe that’s the opposite of agenda
and doesn’t ring the same way
on picketing signs
or burning pamphlets
It’s not the kind of word
you scratch in metal or hurl
like a stone
it won’t draw blood
make money
or battle
it won’t burn the sky
But it’s the one we’ve been
given, traced faintly in sand.
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He has two projects available at Origami Poetry.