-------We sense it in the call of a Canada
--goose in flight
--a
longing strong enough to carry an entire
--flock to their destination
-------We feel it in the grumble of a
--distant storm
--that dark
dissatisfaction at what is
--in comparison
--with what will be
-------The people who should never let us
--down
--let us down
--The
cabin roof groans with the weight of so
--much snow
--The stairs in
the old farmhouse complain with every
--footstep
--even with the
memory of feet that move no longer
--The branches of an enormous
oak moan in the high wind
-------We hear it in the spirituals nurtured
--in the cotton fields of the
deep south
--a deep hopeless sorrow
--distilled into hope for beyond
Comin’ for to carry me home -------We may think we merely imagine it
--in the whistle of a train as
it rumbles through a midnight crossing
--but the tracks through BC’s
mountains were laid with the blood of
--Chinese navvies
--the sweat of
abandoned dreams
--& the boxcars
--rolling through the prairies
during the depression
--carried the last
--hope of the unemployed
Don’t imagine that that wail
--has nothing
--to do with human grief
-------Sometimes our wounds heal
--completely
--sometimes they
leave a scar
--A woman learns of cancer
--in her breast
--a man finds
his heart is failing
--We fall to our knees
--for a miracle
--& are
startled when an answer seems to come
--a taste of what will be
-------Hear the wind in the cavity where
--the siding is loose
--Hear it
banging against the wall
--Sometimes
--our wounds don’t heal at all
-------We fall to our knees
--but the sky
--grows grey
--featureless &
silent
--We long for what we had
--what
--we almost had
--what will be
-------We sense it in the stillness of a
--beaver pond
--or in the rush
over Niagara
-------We see it in the sunflower
--pushing through the soil
reaching for the sky
--for the sun
--When
--we most identify with this
world
--we are most unsettled
(This poem first appeared in
The Christian Century)
