Wednesday, March 24, 2021


(A poem I wrote--I don't know when) and found in my desk drawer. It's about coming to grips with sadness.)


 I've noticed you before, over the years, the decades,
standing in the corner of those room,
passing out the door as I was coming in,
walking down the street outside my house
with an umbrella and a dog,
whether it was raining or not.
You were not unattractive--in fact there was a certain
fascination about you in you calm and stoic look.
I liked the way you held my glance when I would
look away, how I would remember your eyes before I slept.
It was your eyes, you know, that made me nod
and maybe even smile as we almost touched
in the halls ways of my life. Nod and smile, that much
and never more before turning away to speak to another.
Your eyes troubled me,
frightened me, brought me night terrors,
because you saw into the soul of me and did not flinch.
Recently, our hands have almost touched, both reaching
for some cheese or a slice of melon at a party where we
both felt out of place. And I see you eyes all new,
a different way--and fear you less.
So, I invite you into my home, my thoughts, my heart,
to learn what dreadful and healing thing you have
to tell me, whisper into my tears and to feel
your lips against my own, kissing and tasting and giving life.


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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.