Suffer the Ache, Sweet Babies

When earth finally moves again
and soil gives up after soaking rain,
we watch seeds pods crack open,
spindly white stems humbly folded,
their heads still buried in dirt.

I marvel at miracles,
little babes surrounding me
like folds of skirts, hugging my legs
and screaming all sorts of nonsense
because they are tired and hungry.

I watch them now, their heads bent low,
their stems spindly and white, and I
wonder how much rain it will take to soften
their earth, if they will keep their heads buried
or suffer the ache of reaching upward.

Sweet Emmanuel

Chocolate milk in the morning,
knee-high hugs good-bye,
chocolate-spotted suit pants,
dark stains that won’t dry.

In what disguise will he turn up today?
Distressing, calm, or well?
It seems he sleeps and wakes within us,
sweet, Sweet Emmanuel.

We are each a Christ to one another,
each harnessing a dove.
We are Christ to each other,
loving and being loved.