And the second is like unto it…. Matthew 22:39

Most days I suffer the neuropathy
of friends’ political anger. It poisons them
and surrounding space, where all they grow
is Blake’s toxic “apple bright.” I see me
in them and grieve for us both.

Brenda is dying next door. Today her husband
apologized if the noise of her bed’s
motor disturbs our sleep. I have
to raise it, he says; I’m too old to bend down
over her. I assure him we cannot hear it.

Ron is 80 and soft-spoken. He moves his car
so friends can park for their last visit,
so when the moment comes Brenda
can take her last ride. I am ready
to embrace Sunday School saws:

“Today plant a seed that will bring
joy tomorrow.” “Love your neighbor
as yourself”; maybe better. “If anyone
slaps you on the right cheek, offer
the left.” They are hard sayings.

I don’t know why God made us
and our neighbors so hard to love.
I don’t mean Ron. These days when
he walks by, the stones cry out,
if only we could hear them.

 

J. S. Absher

 

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