Palm Sunday, March 29, 2015
By Jane Tawel
For My Mother, Jane Cook whose birthday it is today March 31 and who hates blank verse but reads mine anyway.
I am an acolyte of Time.
Mastered by a ticking clock.
Doesn’t even touch me with her hands any more.
Incessant Screens like Greek Sirens
Beacons of corpse-like digits. Beeping bait–
Three goddesses I serve by sacrificial waste.
The Past–She plants a field of nettles, I crawl through;
I scab, unhealed,
Itchy and swollen with remembered hurt.
I clutch her, unable to let go
Of toxic weeds,
Fearing to lose the blossoms
Now rotted and decayed
That Time won’t let me keep.
The Future – She whose unformed quixotic days –
Fill imaginary pus-filled blisters between my fearful toes,
Anticipated pain, keeping me
From moving forward without wincing.
My dance card is filled
Before I learn to stand.
Time’s future soundless, sightless ghosts tango stoically
Stepping on the feet of my dreams.
The Now—Wieldy Wanton Witch waves a wand
That makes a many lane-ed highway,
Not a path diverging into two, but endless choices whizzing by
Too fast to choose, Which? Which? Which Witch?
The other worshipers seemingly knowing where they are going,
And I immobilize myself, worried and irritated,
Unable to walk.
So I gluttonize the Present by choosing everything
And gaining nothing.
Too obese to rise.
An anorexic—starved for a taste of
God, The Real One ……
Outside the small numb blip of Me-ness,
I have lost Your Timeline
In the hanging garden.
I meander in a paradise of
Nettles, thorns, and burrs
To give glory to an idol from a dog’s age.
Free me from the holy moly of the Past,
Free me from the jaded janus of What Might Be,
Free me from the ever enticing loveless vishnu of the Now.
Set my body running, climbing, twirling
Free me to be an abject slave to the Centered Point.
A to O I Am, embolden my bondage
To be the image of Your Was and Is and Evermore Shall Be
Into Your Eternal ……
Starting here and now without any here and now assured.
Never dying, living wholly holy into your Timelessness,
On Earth as it is in The Havens.
If freedom once meant nothing left to lose,
Poor Prophetess, how right you could have been
If you had known The Way.
If only you had traded rock
For rocks that cry Hosanna.
Freedom in Yahweh in The Now,
The Endless Circle of His Moment…..
“Being Your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of Your desire?”
You steal Time and replace it with Eternity,
Like a Thief.
Joshua! cries the clock.
Nothing left to lose
Means nothing left to choose.
Freed to renounce all my Time
And place a wager
On this moment
And only You.
From Quark to Quark
My Dust implodes, resettles and reforms
Into Uncertain Certainty
To worship: Hosanna! Timeless One.
You save a lot of Time.