And We Felt Them

In the Spring of 2020

Skyscrapers that were once
the fictional sanctuaries
of frivolous boys
were replaced by homes; real sanctuaries
where frivolous boys remembered
that they were sacred men.
Men who learned they were held
most precious
where they were most needed.

Fears of deadlines were replaced
by fears of deadliness
and the addictive gossip of the break room seemed to fade into petty insignificance.
We went from salivating for the latest dirt
to digging in it
as uncertainty of fate prompted us
to sow seeds in new gardens
that promised us life
when nothing else would.

Shouts across 5th floor cubicles
turned into whispers
across pillows.
Our lovers made the best coworkers
our children the best bosses.

We grew wiser instead of smarter
our ambition replaced by charity.

Thanking God became, for once, something more than just an exclamation
of relief.
It became our anthem
while we faithfully waited for a world
to heal
finding unexpected healing of our own along the way.

Games weren't played on manicured fields
inside of towering arenas
by imposing athletes in uniforms
and cleats,
but on well worn tables
inside of modest kitchens
with dirty dishes in the sink
by families in pajamas
and blankets.

In those moments where children's holey socks
became holy socks.

Books weren't carried from classroom to classroom
within ivy clad walls
but from bedroom to bedroom
between siblings
and generations.

Young pink fingers intertwined with ones that were callused and wrinkled,
naivete and wisdom breaking bread
through smiling eyes.

We climbed forgotten attic stairs
like weary souls ascending
into heaven,
yearning to be reunited
with the ones we loved most
that had left us.
With wetted eyes we lovingly looked
at their faded faces
and with fingertips caressed their smiles.

We closed our eyes.

And we felt them.

And we knew we'd be okay.

We knew we'd be okay.

Something Worthy Of Curation

Determined to assuage my guilt I sit with my only quill, and on wrinkled, joyful tear stained parchment write my will, my great prestation, in order to bestow on these, my perfect little ones, the bounty of this mortal probation.

In want I've had hunger's fill, and finding no nobility in this I still, without power of oration, in the wake of my life, thanks be to God, may yet leave something worthy of curation.

I can hear the bankers laughing in their towers, their fabricated mirth so shrill. They ask what is a poor man's will, as they pour out the libation. With every soulless jab at me they toast and drink to their own damnation.

Let them have their fill. I prefer the company and wisdom of the farmer and his till. A banker has the money of the world because of station, but a farmer has the riches of the earth in his plantation.

Of no value to men, but invaluable to mankind if left to distill in their hearts is everything I try, in you, to instill. In sweat and tears I lay your foundation, but watching you bloody your own hands in the building of your homes has been my life's greatest admiration.

I've not many possessions. Things flow in and out like the rill, but I've charged my scriptures, my journals, and my books to uphold you in every dream you can possibly fulfill. Your lives have been the source of my every elation, and my cup runneth over as I continue to witness the breathtaking splendor of their formation.

Famous Mortimer McFry

Famous Mortimer McFry was a very busy guy
He would say hello and immediately say goodbye
He would never stay long to visit or talk
His schedule kept him running...he would never walk
No one knew his business, no one knew his work
When he ate he used a supersonic vacuum, not a fork
The few times he would speak his voice was kinda funny
He sounded like a warp speed coffee drinking bunny
One day he was so busy that he sadly ran too far
And got a little too close to the next nearest star
That was the last we heard from that bustling little guy
The very very busy Famous Mortimer McFry