LUNCH
Two candles, oh three, one candle
near the kitchen. Lights off, the candle
lighting the vast space. Silence again
with coffee, ramen and banana. Last
night’s left over to garnish ramen.
Without you, a quiet lunch on a Sunday.
Those splinters of God’s light, those
times our bodies, nothing came in between but thin air and shafts of
light. You were so close like my own
arms. We felt each other. We rolled the stairs kissing mad, you and me. Hot soup for lunch and a warm bed to sleep, I awoke, alone, hugging my pillows.
Afternoons are like Golgotha,
like hiking a mountain in a hot summer, like watching an arid field. It is like waiting for a day to end, and a
night to come, or passing time, and no one’s coming home. Afternoons are like those times, Dad had just
died, those times, I awake in my sleep, sobbing, “Dad is never coming back, but
he is truly Home.”
“Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy
Immortal One, have mercy on us and the whole world.
Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy
Immortal One, have mercy on us and the whole world.
Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy
Immortal One, have mercy on us and the whole world.
Jesus, King of Mercy, we trust in
You.”
/rose flores.writeme@blogspot
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