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Backwards Pioneers

My earliest memory takes place in 1960s Wilkinsburg, where we lived while Dad finished his schooling at Carnegie Tech. Dark brick house and heavy gray sky. Warm, prickly air; a carpet of clover in the grass. A thick cement porch I loved, anchored with square pillars of the same black brick. Chipped concrete steps with graveled wounds and patches.

Devotion

Every Tuesday morning, sky dark, 
I rise to the temple. Today, by the 
time we reach the Garden, the 
actors need help with their lines. 

Prodigal Daughter

The lost daughter woke up 
and returned to herself, 
and determined she no 
longer wanted to be lost, 
and determined to 
return to her Mother. 

What Ashmae Taught Me

One time, in the temple, 
after looking, and smelling, 
and asking, and listening, 
a quietness spoke back 

Circles and Lines

A ring of women 
Spontaneously gathered round 
Willing hands outstretched 
Gently pulling, untwisting, unbraiding 

January 21, 2019

Hello, God, small and obscure, distant twinkly point of light. 
Perhaps, you are the portal and I am the time. I long  
thought the other way ‘round. 

Our Lady of the Temple

Her favorite is the whisper of slippers on plush carpet. 

Her favorite is the window of stained glass, jewel-bright, reminding her 
of a wildflower field and that cathedral in France.

Friday Morning Shift

I walk into the baptistry 
In our modest, midwestern temple 
Eager to fold fluffy towels 
Into their honorable offerings.