Two Parables, Two Questions

On the eve of the autumnal equinox,
I saw Jesus at the Wal-Mart on University Avenue.
Though not as tall as expected,
I knew Him because
His skin was everyone’s and
because of a certain because
that is sensed, not articulated,
and…well…
because of His hands.

I felt I could ask Him anything,
and just as I thought to ask why
He was at Wal-Mart, at this Wal-Mart,
I found myself remembering

a night in high school
when we crowded into JL’s microbus
and went to a titty bar just East of downtown Wichita;
a night when
an elder from my church was there
and that which once seemed
wholly good, revealed
its potential
to be
very
dark.

I thought to ask if the
amount of energy and matter
is constant, or about Tesla’s coil
and electrical fields or Rwanda
or St. Paul, but instead
I asked him why He looked so sad…and…

(though I
couldn’t feel it,
the earth’s plane
tilted
relative to the sun.
Tomorrow
- the equinox -
night and day
would be
nearly equal
in length)

…He said (His only words), He said

“at night,
in the city,
the stars
are very hard
to see.”

I asked if it was metaphor.

He registered another parable misunderstood
with a smile both quiet and small, and
touched my cheek -
his latest dull disciple.
His gaze could have destroyed,
but instead He
walked away. He

walked away. He walked away and
toward a point where I
could not see Him
for all the commerce. He walked
forward in time and I wonder
if I ever saw him at all.
He walked (with some sadness)
as we all walk; He
walked (knowing He
was misunderstood).
He walked…away
from the vernal.