Apr 1, 2008

Or Something Like That

Written by C. Dale Young

Read by D.A. Powell

In the Yard today, the pine needles began snowing
down. The way they caught the light was curious.
And the maple’s leaves, all red and ochre, were

already littering the walkway. And I, well I sat
thinking the same dark thoughts I have had
since childhood. You know the ones. I need

not explain them to You, of all people.
But it is so easy to call things dark thoughts,
a kind of lazy shorthand. Too easy to forget

the maxim that everyone is good in Your eyes.
We both know this is not true, is a lie. I mean,
the high school counselor they put away for life…

How can he be good in Your eyes? Sometimes,
I am convinced no one is good in Your eyes.
Dark thoughts, yes. I am doubting again.

I doubt the pine needles, the maple leaves,
the robin carrying on its stupid song,
my own voice mumbling on a slate blue terrace.

Easy to doubt. Always easy. And the old Jesuit
who lectured me on this? Well, he doubted, too.
But I am not quite ready to be broken just yet.

I have a few things left in me, a few surprises.
No magic is as good as Your magic, but I have
hidden cards up my sleeve, twisted the handkerchief,

slipped the coin behind my watch. I still have
a few tricks left to play. And the light shifting
on the terrace, the pine needles coming down,

I know what they mean. I get what You are trying
to get at. I am here, God, I am here. I am waiting
for You to blind me with a sunstorm of stars.