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,
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
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…
couldn’t feel it,
the earth’s plane
relative to the sun.
- the equinox -
night and day
…He said (His only words), He said
in the city,
are very hard
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
from the vernal.