poema

And the chicken was in the marinade by noon
preparing to become something beautiful

You were singing, not quite cherubic but still sweetly.
I slipped into the room minutes late
with a pace that said I was aware of it.

Then the uneasiness came
as I stood there swaying, swaying
and thinking, thinking
(I'm always thinking)
No comfort came and I prayed
"God is this where you want me?
If you want me here I'll stay.
I'll keep coming,and ignore
the discomfort."

The uneasiness never left
and my mind there stewing
"If not here, then where?
Where else could I try? I
hate being misplaced."

Pastor answered my question.
I cannot now tell you
what he said that yeilded
this clarification,
but the point was clear:

I was setting myself up
to be a repeat offender,
backtracking through a lesson
I thought I had already learned.
Unacceptable.

And when we were done,
after my round motion "hiya" hand wave
(usually used for hellos)
I left with a gait that said,
"I haven't found it yet," flashing
empty goodbye, have-a-blessed-week smiles,
certain that a return would be just a visit.

I'm packing up my tent and heading elsewhere
to find another church home on earth. Home like my Destiny.
There was home, and I took it for granted,
but now, without the option of going, I'm homesick.

And where to now?...
Posted on 10.14.2007 at 12:40 PM