. . . but she doesn’t even attend . . .
to what? wide sky through windshield,
trees turning, children tossing balls,
flattened plastic bottles curbside,
prescriptions for the grandmother,
New Year’s tips for mailman, trash cans,
dead buds on rose bushes, street signs,
matches, veteran on crutches,
your words, small inner voice, her god?
. . . but he doesn’t come to worship . . .
robes, rings, churches, money or God?
who he loves, what he reads, why he
does whatever he does is such
mystery—maybe he hears words
in the wind or traffic or both!
Perhaps he sings his psalms alone
savoring sounds falling off lips into
small rooms and inside cheek cavities.
. . . but they don’t practice what we know . . .
Babel! hic et nunc! God speaks and
at once all hear in their own tongues
as promised, and what canst thou say
in any tongue for any ear?
What is your earliest experience
of God? Your image of divine?
What daily food sustains your faith?
Each one speaks and answers the call.
This poem was inspired by "Theme Thursday for December 20, 2012--FAITH."
Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast