MY MAN (the texture of his soul)

MY MAN (the texture of his soul)

Jagged thorny corners where
nuns did a number on him

Nearby, a fountain that weeps salt
for this father, gone too soon

On one side, blown glass
Cool to the touch, warming now…

Burlap covers newly planted notions
He will wait for blooms

Devotions in denim, closed eyes
weary after work of worship

A patch of stubble – not 5:00 Draper
but his biting, familiar sarcasm

A kazoo juts out of one side
waiting to play “Bridge On The River Kwai”

Settling in to meditate will be hard
what with all the racket, but he’ll get there

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “M.”  Also for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

This seemed to be the week to write about Lex, who pastored during a Seder on Thursday, spent quiet time on Good Friday, went to the vigil with me on Saturday, and rocked the church with an amazing sermon on Easter Sunday. Love of my life; man of God; sweetheart of a guy. Trust me, you’d love him.