Sleepless Nights

OK. Be gentle, now! A couple of nights ago I was up in the night and I started working on this poem. As I was gnawing on it, I pondered sharing it...but now as I put it on the blog, I find my heart racing 100 miles a minute! Sermons and blogs are one thing...but a poem, I find, is quite another. I feel absolutely naked. But, here it is...my poem.

I write this poem in honor of all the "old men" I know, including me! But also for all of the partners by our sides whose fingers miraculously find a gentle resting place that warms and gives us hope.

Thanks for being brave, folks, and caring enough to touch us.

Shalom, Pastor Brook

Sleepless Nights

It’s been four score and a bit now

Back in year one

we fit in a

single at her parent’s place.

The lark of her childhood bed sang

as we locked in our embrace

Content with

the simple generosity

of each other

But now it seems

we each roll to the edge of a queen

and secretly pine for a king (can you imagine)

when the dog whines

and we give in

and she jumps between us.

It’s then that I roll over

Away....a.....way

and ponder the fate of old men 

old men like I’ve become:

Ties tied backwards on Sunday best

Yesterday’s breakfast yoked on my favorite flannel

My stories are my gold...but to them they are pencil filings

A chuckle as I discover an ear hair that wasn’t there yesterday, now five inches long!

How could this possibly be happening

How could my old foe gravity have pinned me so quickly

I fight the tears

I’m seven again

sitting alone at lunch in a new school.

Eventually I give in

and the tears turn to leaves falling in late October

as I turn to face the sleepless night

alone  

But then

a hand slips

under my night shirt

Is she trying to fix the buttons? 

Did I get that wrong, too?

I hear the gentle steps of her fingers

as they traverse the peaks, and valleys, and wrinkles

of my fragile soul

They trace old fault lines

slip by remnants and leavings of regret

Leavings that hang there only because I have willed them there

unwilling to let them fall into the vault of God’s forgiveness

Don't let me off the hook

And there, finally, she finds

her sacred resting place

 just below

the scar

on my left shoulder

Warmth...grace...forgiveness

Now, only now

can I muster up the courage to whisper

that tomorrow

I will keep on

that for tomorrow

that simple generosity

between

is truly

enough