Saturday, March 31, 2018

March 31: "Divination," Kwame Dawes, Happy Easter


by:  Kwame Dawes

You give them names only after you wake,
after you have studied the patterns of threes--
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fire,
but none of these are hobos, none traveling
from Nazareth to Jerusalem, and not a sheep
in sight, but thieves on the cross, and the noble
Magi have least to say--still you dream these
train hoppers, bleak with hunger, their clothes
loose, ragged, their eyes dancing with mischief
and in the dream you know to follow them
through doors into hallways.  You know
to count to three, the third being the closure
of all stories, the arrival at peace.  Every
gathering has the loose-legged dancer
with his knobby stick and a mouth full
of lies that rise like moths over the heads
of folks; it has a hand of steel, that engine
soul scowling in the shadows, wanting
everyone to scowl or laugh, and then
the clear-eyed diviner, one eye shut,
the other reading that pattern in the clouds--
every fathering has a sermonizer to balm
the faithful, has a rod to beat against
the stone, to frighten the wolves in the gloom;
every meeting place has its anchors,
and the believers will come softly.


A little poem from Kwame Dawes that, for some reason, feels like Easter to me.  The real Easter, full of hobos and thieves and wolves in the gloom.  And believers coming together softly to celebrate.

The snow is falling in the Upper Peninsula right now.  It's supposed to snow most of the day--white filling the ground and trees and roofs and steeples.  For some reason, this also makes me think of Easter.  It's like a cleansing.

Saint Marty wishes you all a blessed Easter.

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