JESUS STOPS BY FOR A VISIT

Oh, it's . . . it's You.
Well . . . come in, come in. Yes.
I wasn't expecting . . .
That is . . . I thought you were . . . dead.
But . . . But . . . No! Not dead, not really.
Risen! Yes. Of course . . .
Resurrected. But still . . .

Yes, please sit down. Sit. Sit.
Here's the best chair in the place.
Not much of a place, I know.
Anyhow. Coffee? Tea? A glass of water?
Something stronger?
Hey, I guess you could turn
the water into whatever . . .
Sorry. Just a little joke. Heh. Heh.
You've probably heard it a thousand . . .
Yes, I suppose it would get old, wouldn't it?

Sorry if I seem a little nervous.
I really had no idea you made house . . .
Of course I'm happy you've come.
Glad. Pleased. Honored.
It's just that I never imagined . . .
And I must admit I'm curious.
I mean I'm sure you have a reason . . .
No? Just a chance to say hello?
See how things are going?
Well, things are . . . fine.
Really. I'm doing well.
Most of the time. ‘course we all
have our ups and downs, don't we?
But no complaints. A few aches
and pains. Not getting any younger
you know. Well, I'm not anyway.

What? You've got to be going?
So soon? But you just got . . .
And . . . And I have questions, lots of . . .
Yes. Yes. I understand.
Maybe . . . Maybe next time?

MEMORIAL REQUEST

Let us talk of those no longer with us.
Let us honor their lives with our words.
Let us speak mostly of the good in them.
Let us not, however, pretend they were not flawed.

Let us re call them, summon them again from
the times they spent touching our lives
with theirs, helping us to cry or laugh, teaching
us, often unaware that they were teachers.

Let us re member them, rejoin them
to our company, with stories of what they
said and did, with special attention given
to how they said it, how they did it.

Let us re instate them, claim for them
their rightful place in our past, but also
in our present. We are what they helped
shape us into. They live on in us.

SIT-IN

Aunt Martha was not pleased.

I knew because I overheard her
tell my mother what happened when
everybody on the school trip to Hershey
Park got on the miniature train
and the conductor came to collect
the nickel from all the passengers.
She said I said I didn't have any money
-- had I spent it on potato chips? --
but refused to get off even when
the conductor insisted and to avoid
making a scene she had to pay
my fare. She was, she said,
terribly embarrassed by my behavior.

Six decades later I'm impressed by
that five-year-old rebel. It's way
too late to apologize to Aunt Martha,
and, to tell the truth, I'm not sure
I'd want to, even if I could.

JANUARY 1 -- FOR THE HEARTBROKEN

It's time to toss out
the old calendar.

Do you do what I once did . . .
flip backwards through the pages
for clues to yesterday's news:

recall appointments missed
and kept, remember
that weekend back in April

when the two of you
saw the sunrise on the lake
she called unforgettable?

And do you wish you knew
the steps to take
to make life less regrettable?

Most of the months were
full of her.

Did you circle the day
she went away?

WATER FOR THE PIGS

It was so much easier to dip
the bucket into the muddy stream
than to carry it all the way from
the faucet. So I did. Every time.
Until the afternoon my brother
saw me do it. "Just because they
roll in the mud doesn't mean
they want to drink dirty water,"
he said. Easier, I learned,
isn't necessarily better.

PUZZLE

What I still don't get is where
that "love your enemies, bless
them that curse you, do good
to them that hate you" came
from. Devout Jew that he was,
fond of quoting scripture, he
couldn't cite chapter and verse
for it (and not just because
there were no chapters or verses)
and Ghandi wasn't going to show
up for another nineteen centuries.
It's surprising that anybody even
remembered it and that someone
later wrote it down. It must have
struck his listeners as preposterous,
unthinkable. Which is maybe why
that of the millions who identify
themselves as his followers,
only a figurative handful
attempt to take it seriously.

SCHOOL DAYS

Mostly what I remember isn't what
Mrs. Loechner tried to teach us.
What sticks instead are departures
from the routine, like the day someone
threw a rock at the outhouse, missed,
and hit Danny Rambler's head.
Blood oozed through his fingers
while he tried not to cry. Or when,
one day at recess, Henry Cassel, furious
over a perceived injustice, gathered
several of us boys in a huddle
and vowed a solemn vow to return
on whatever future day the schoolhouse
would be demolished and "help tear
this damn place down." (I'd thought only
grownups were allowed to say damn.)
Then there was the time Dale Shelly,
his face green, was standing up front,
reciting the two times table. He got
as far as "two times four is . . ." then
heaved his breakfast on the kid
sitting at his desk in the front row.
"O Dale," the teacher said.
I don't remember what Dale said.