Roots

A poem by Lindsay Ballew

german-owned
makes me a little better
disaffected after learning words like “mittelschmerz ”
and “clean diesel”

the four east mountain villages were desperate for
this log cabin with a wrap-around porch
and quiche
and pleasantries
about the local goat dairy and horse rescue
about the weather and europe
i wonder if they weary of being told how great is
this log cabin with macrophotography, hyper-saturated to captivation, and “biscuits” with coffee
reminding me of the polish creperie in belfast, where I sat years ago last month

the customer at the counter has never learned to use an “inside voice”
or its german equivalent
she wants to know more and more about the horse-drawn plow and the vegan bread
the whole room knows that she can’t decide between multigrain and sourdough
but she recognizes good coffee
roasted locally with heart, humor, and a horse-tooth driving cap
and for that i can see her as the bearer of gifts
namely, gratitude and patience

patience is the gift
i am learning to receive Roots

german-owned
makes me a little better
disaffected after learning words like “mittelschmerz ”
and “clean diesel”

the four east mountain villages were desperate for
this log cabin with a wrap-around porch
and quiche
and pleasantries
about the local goat dairy and horse rescue
about the weather and europe
i wonder if they weary of being told how great is
this log cabin with macrophotography, hyper-saturated to captivation, and “biscuits” with coffee
reminding me of the polish creperie in belfast, where I sat years ago last month

the customer at the counter has never learned to use an “inside voice”
or its german equivalent
she wants to know more and more about the horse-drawn plow and the vegan bread
the whole room knows that she can’t decide between multigrain and sourdough
but she recognizes good coffee
roasted locally with heart, humor, and a horse-tooth driving cap
and for that i can see her as the bearer of gifts
namely, gratitude and patience

patience is the gift
i am learning to receive

Open Door

A Poem by Lindsay Ballew

her fez
fur pulled over brow, ears
her skin
wizened and incandescent

her smile
gravity
mine
drawn into

one unflinching moment

fingertips to chalice
lips to chalice

our grief
Sacred

our brimming
Holy

our rising
Human