Grace is the hand of God
Graceful the bodies of women
Grateful for gift of friends
Amen.
On a night lit with refracted streetlamp rainglow
the first benediction was whispered—
We give thanks for our friends, loved ones, twos, threes...
Your voice transmigrated to a body beyond the normal senses,
between the lines
onto the airwaves.
And when it returned I heard you say-
Throw something in the sea for me.
The sea refuses no river.
I deny you no request.
Yet, the symbolism escaped me.
I puzzled it as I rode to Cape Cod with my parents.
Around New Haven I thought of stones and bread.
Something biblical, manna on the waters,
nourishment, strength.
Near Mystic I thought Old Testament.
Staffs tossed into serpents and seas parting
removing obstacles.
Past Providence I thought Celtic, Christian, Viking funereal.
Water to wine to blood and body fire.
Signs and symbols—a bottle with a note.
Alchemy for redemption.
Through Fall River I thought Talmud and Cabalah.
Words on white leaf boats: FEAR, PRIDE, PAIN, ANGER.
Salt stained letters counted as numbers.
Questions that sanctify without need of answers.
Beyond the Bourne Bridge a dragon's breath caul below
and cumulus cauldron above-
my metaphysical mind stuck between-
Wanting to throw the right object;
overwhelmed by the possibilities.
So, here it was, Thanksgiving Eve,
the door to my sister's cottage opened
my niece (face and limbs belonging to a four-year-old me)
flew into my mother's nesting arms.
Some nights I slept with parts you don't see.
My best friend (family and funeral bound) beside and inside me.
My niece resting our childselves blanketed beside and inside me.
But, on that first night I took to bed
the puzzle of presents for the sea.
God's hand moved like it had done only once before in this century.
The child's voice woke us, Nanny it's snowing!
It covered all.
It made snowmen and snowballs and fell on our tongues, arms, and brows.
The two year old said, clothes dirty when it fell on his.
I showed him it was water, cold and clean.
He pointed to everything touched by God's hand:
Snow on car
Snow on bush
Snow on street
Snow on Aunt Betsy...
A second benediction fell on me as it fell on you.
Frozen falling stars reflecting moonglow over hundreds of miles
melting into the sea between us.