The Stairwell

The church was big
The building, that is
I was small
Very small
There was a stairwell
A quiet place
That climbed from the solid basement
To the third floor height.
Unless people were exiting a service
It was
almost always
empty
but not empty
entirely
It was bathed,
soaked,
saturated
in prayer.
How many people stepped into this quiet place
To say thanks?
To confess?
To plead on their own behalf,
or that of someone they loved?
I could not have counted then
It was too many
And the place
to me
seemed holy.
No matter what pain,
no matter what had been done,
no matter what I did,
no matter what happened–
when I stepped into that stairwell
I felt
God.

I always lingered in the stairwell
Hoping He would speak
Afraid I would hear
Not feeling I deserved such things

It was electric magic in that place
It was one of the few places
My spirit
would calm down…

When I left that church
so many years later
(“a country-club,” I said)
it was very hard
to leave
that stairwell.

What if I went to another church
and they didn’t have a stairwell?
or what if it was always choked with people?
never still?
never quiet?
what if God would not visit other stairwells?
what if I was leaving God?

I’ll always remember
the peace I felt
when all my world was hell
it wasn’t hell
in that stairwell.

We Both

I looked for joy between her breasts
And sadly it was not there
Wrong place, wrong time
And not even a little bit fair.

Some time later she saw me here
Whiling away the hours
She was upset that I was still living
And who has the heart to blame a crazy person?

To say it didn’t work out would be trite
To say I was happy would be a lie
She was of course, an amazing girl
And me a bastard that now, she used to know.

I should have listened to my friends
I should have listened to my God
I should have listened less to her
And stayed broke up the first time.

People seem to want a drug
Maybe she was mine
But now there’s regret and hurt feelings
And everyone knew better.

Coconut Dreams

Dear Macaroon,

I feel like we are in this together
I feel like you have my back
As you slide down my throat
I love eating you
And I hope you love being eaten
A beautiful symmetry
A beautiful feeling
That requires so much
trust.
Which is surprising…
Because I think we all
like a cookie
now and again.

A Note on Unity

I would like to extend a big hearty thank you to everyone who submitted poems on Unity. I was pleased with the results. It was small, but I am intrigued by every one of the poems. Bravo to you poets. I think I will do it again… only next time with a name for the whole thing. Feel free to comment on each other’s poems indefinitely. I know that I have to read something several times and let it sit if I want to say anything meaningful. Cheers.