• [CHRISTIA] new poetry, "Half Done"

    From Mark@1:396/4 to Practical Christian Life on Sun Jun 14 12:57:45 2020
    From: lamppoet@CENTURYTEL.NET (Mark)

    This one is more felt than understood I think



    Half Done



    (Love each other in a way that makes you feel close like brothers and
    sisters. And give each other more honor than you give yourself. Romans
    12:10)



    Our house was home-made d cor, half done projects
    on the walls, a green bean bag and dentist s chair
    on the living room floor.



    It was mostly home, though the horticulture lacked
    for purpose or design; the landscaper sneezed too readily
    once hay fever season began and the weeds had a heyday
    from fence to falling fence.



    Sun tea was always brewing atop the flat verandah roof,
    mom sunbathed will past afternoon and 45,
    the black lab found the shade only after nuzzling each
    visitor to their knees.



    We liked the summer East Bay and found new ways to
    play the same games, old ways to ask the same girls
    for dates we were certain would turn us down. We lived
    in town
    and drove an hour to spend the day at Briones. (I ve
    written about it before. See my anthology, published after
    my demise, and filed somewhere between Berkeley skies
    and Jesus people meeting at Jacob s Well for burgers and fries.)



    Our house was occasional Goodwill influenced, though
    we shopped mostly for clothing at St. Vincent de Paul.
    I found platform shoes and denim blues, along with
    paisley flannel shirts and macram beads that looked mostly
    like watermelon seeds.



    I share all of this to say that, of all the ones I ve known and met,
    I miss you the most; the one who sat with me when the world
    had ended. I miss old VWs and pool parties, talking about nothing
    as if we were solving the world. I miss you, (never let me
    regret
    having felt it this well without telling you about it.) I miss
    so many conversations that still have commas, and never
    ended until



    The words left unspoken fell upon the backyard pasture,
    mixed with the lawn gone to seed and settled somewhere close to
    or north of Petaluma.





    Somewhere close,

    mark p.

    lamppoet@centurytel.net



    Mark's Blog

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