April 20, 2013

How Do We Package What We Cannot Name? ~ Edith Lazenby

Moments unwrap heartbeats toward silence.

Tears wash now to let go of what’s then.

The gift’s mystery wears a veil of crocheted lace.

The holes open up to mirrors holding light.

There’s too much to see in any one breath.

The fragments make a picture time cannot know.

Like a jigsaw puzzle without borders, pieces

Dance in hands putting what fits together

To make a scene we cannot quite see.

There is a tree, a mountain, a sun…and a rocky

Path but the branches grow from rock and the beams

Of sunlight become pebbles on the path.

Nothing is clear. What I know does not confuse

But holds questions that question meaning.

The package is held in a box words don’t frame.

I work at whittling letters together into something

Familiar yet it all feels stranger than pain.

I make a bow of rose petals and decorate the paper

Of woven grass with stems bearing thorns.

Some things aren’t meant to be known.

Faith teases belief with crosses and clouds.

Forgiveness needs to bleed. Peace sits here,

Knowing what’s given is taken, and what’s taken,

Given….knowing time may heal all but there’s

Not enough time because the wounds don’t stop

Even when we’ve had enough, there’s always more.

Yet I bow my head and fold my hands. Grace touches

Us even when we are past feeling, even when what we know

And what we don’t tug at the roots of being and what

Comes up in sheathes of light dances in a mirror of shadows

And how we see chooses us, beyond anything life dares we believe.

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Editor: Kate Bartolotta

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