The best of servants are barely seen,
Rarely heard.
We quietly come and go
And are only noticed
When a mistake is made.
If we dare to be absent,
We are not missed –
Only the task we left unperformed.
They do not see us,
Look into our eyes,
Sense what we feel.
Eyes down
Quiet steps
Hushed voice –
Do not disturb the deserving.
For them is the dinner prepared.
In their honor is the party given.
We wish them good rest
As we turn down silken covers
(Mint on the pillow, the sweet life)
And slip up darkened stairs.

In our humble quarters
We turn down our own beds
And fall quickly to heavy sleep
Knowing not to expect a mint.



Surrounded by a dozen people,
We are all alone
At a table for two.
Simple things –
Sandwiches and juice,
Daisies in soda bottles,
Holding hands
While Mozart and rainbows
Fill the air –
Are romance to me
When I am here with you.
The old house,
Now the newest trend in dining,
Is ours in so many ways,
And it always will be.


I am your disciple,
Though I don’t always
Follow you.
In fact,
I sometimes head the wrong way –
Away from fellowship,
Away from you.
Because of my own lack of understanding,
I get caught up
In my own pity party.
(You have no idea what I’ve been through.)

As I dare
To tell you all about you
Your life
Your death
You point me to the Scriptures
And the Resurrection.

Stay with me.
The fellowship is sweet,
And I’d like to know you more.
(I have no idea who you really are to me.)

Time together,
Your perfect love,
My many childish questions
Answered by you,
Patient teacher.

There you are.
You were beside me all along.


I’d like to drive away
Down a winding road
Across state lines
And let them wonder where I am.
Or hit every store
And spend all I have
Buying things I’ll never use.
Maybe stand on a corner
And scream
Until I have nothing left.
Or simply
Speak my mind
To those who need to hear it
For once.


Greeted by the aroma
Of sage and cinnamon
Coffee and cake, turkey and herbs,
Potatoes and yams,
Comfort and joy.
Woodsmoke and leaves,
Clear sky, fresh air.
Welcome home.
Embrace, sit,
Holds hands and say grace.
Thank you God for . . .
Words tumble end over end,
Then awed silence.
Bright sunlight until twilight.
Thankful to be together.

Coming Home (III)

At a party
Surrounded by a crowd
Of friends and grateful guests
Tinkling of ice in glasses
Music of the piano
Percussion of chatter
A crescendo of conversation
Ending in a burst of laughter.

The party is over
But the cleaning up can wait.
You are all that matters
You, and this time we have.
I see you smile
As you reach out to take me in your arms
For one last song.
And I am home.


I stand outside in the dark
Covered well enough by my coat
So that the brisk air touches
Only my face.
Light form a nearby window
Draws me
And like a moth, I approach.
I look in the window.
(Not nose to the glass – that would be too close.)
Keeping a respectful distance
I watch.
Warm, happy family
At dinner
Breaking bread
(It smells so good!)
Sharing stories
(Remember when . . .?)
Knowing each other
With a familiarity that nourishes the soul.

I rub my gloved hands together
And tell myself that I am content
To stay here
And watch.
This is my place.

While thus engaged
Enjoying the view
I hear the door open
And see light flood the pavement next to me.
“Come in. We were hoping you would join us.”
I shed my coat,
And warmth covers me –
Warmth from the fire and from love.
I am filled with delicious bread
And with joy
That comes from being included,
Being family.
My soul is nourished in
Sharing memories
Speaking of hope
And knowing I am family.
This is my place.