Life is walking the dogs,
squatting after them
with a roll of plastic bags
unrolling like an unsavoury tongue.
It happens unexpectedly,
as you try a new recipe,
or opt for the reliable tomato,
always close to hand, and
toss it through a thoughtless pasta —
an old squishy friend
long run to seed, half-seen,
through being seen so much.
Revelations happen,
but most of us are not
St Joan, and God speaks
on a muffled, cracked phone
when we are half listening,
marinating in the mundane
in our accustomed way.
The pause between heartbeats
is more eloquent than any sermon —
that flicker of self; the bandwidth
not quite enough for all the data.
We are walking into God
each day, as we smell the onions,
or squat for the mutts in
a strange, mimetic act.
One day soon, I’ll obtain a clear line.
One day soon the very last walk,
and the darkened screen
pure light, and a meal,
such a meal, as will never end.
P.S. Cottier
The title is from John 10:28 KJV
***
After 30 poems in 30 days, I am very tired. I'll leave it to the rest of you now! I blog at pscottier.com, and it's best to visit on Tuesdays.
