The Witness

    "Revealing the promise of rebirth"

    We walk together again.
    Our pace earns the admiration of snails.
    Filtered rays of the yellow star light the path for our footsteps,
    learning more about each other, one step at a time.

    Lost in colorful conversation, we speak of life;
    we talk about us and the birth of our merger;
    we chat about change
    and confess our distaste for a world sadly muted by the relentless pursuit
    of green paper.

    Hand in hand, we ask the questions that have no answers:
    "When will the world change?"
    "When will people change?"
    We then save the world with our inadequate solutions.

    Laughing and walking and talking and loving,
    drifting carelessly with no desired destination,
    two grateful wanderers in the open terrain of life.

    But a gift is patiently waiting for our recognition,
    a sudden flicker in our peripheral vision,
    catching our attention,
    capturing our imagination.

    We pause in wonder, become showered with passion,
    an outburst and eruption,
    an explosion of color in motion!

    A living kaleidoscope in the sky painted blue,
    a dazzling sketch from the Giver of Life,
    red- and orange- and wine-colored patterns,
    a delightful display that takes our breath away.

    Second after second,
    remnants of rooted life fall gracefully around us.
    Blessed we are by the benevolence of their spiral descent,
    twisting ... turning ... toppling ... tossing,
    creating a sacred trail for thankful drifters.

    The sweet smell of dying flora is life-affirming!
    So much beauty in something that is ending.
    An elegant way to die without the mourning.

    We inhale and watch the exhale from the lungs of our earth mother;
    she orchestrates mad flurries of magnificent colors.
    We respond, heaving sighs of appreciation and wonder,
    hopelessly entranced by nature's splendor.

    The realization of our gift is overwhelming.
    Two indebted spectators on this planet
    witnessing a divine transformation,
    beholding an act of something so grand and intelligent,
    revealing the promise of rebirth,
    reminding us of the birth of our promises to each other.

    We pause and look at each other deeply,
    smile crookedly,
    and know instantly
    the insignificance of the things we call important.

    Patiently, we await the next breath of Mom,
    but she sends a squirrel,
    scurrying across our path to catch one lonely acorn,
    then pausing uncharacteristically
    to witness our embrace.

Redemption

"Tender hums and croons of a newborn end this fierce battle"

Face-to-face with the flesh of my blood,
gazing in wonder at the new life in my arms,
in awe I am of this prophetic bundle of joy.

Holding love in a knitted white blanket,
blessing the miracle of birth
while cursing Lincoln's conception of freedom.

Proclamations of my own emancipation
inscribed on the rosy cheeks of an infant angel:
"Break free from your chains!"
"Emancipate yourself!"
"Your freedom is nigh!"
"There is hope for you yet!"

But flames of shame are burning my inside terrain,
my blood veins singed by fires of remorse,
thoughts parched by deep introspection,
my eyes drenched by the waters of revelation.

History's haunting whispers stained my colorful gray matter,
my sight discolored by its false decrees,
my generation trapped in its fictional certainties,
helping ancient fallacies dictate my reality.

But her gentle stares look past history's haunt and my imperfections!
Her intermittent purrs shoot sweet arrows through my stone heart;
soft whimpers soothe the burns of my shame,
and her gurgles and coos are laced with forgiveness.

My incarcerated heart cries for its freedom from my color-feared past
as I watch the violent clashes between new feelings and antiquity,
a time-honored war of divine necessity,
what I've become in combat with what I want to be.

But the tender hums and croons of a newborn end this fierce battle,
the army of my aged thoughts surrendered
to forces of my sprouting heart —
the death of the old me,
the birth of my new identity —
bowing my head in shame while raising my arms in triumphant glory!

Embers of anguish relinquished my mending soul;
ashes of true love resurrected, they beckon to take hold.
In her face, the story of my redemption now unfolds.

Blue blood and red coexisting in one little body,
flowing peacefully through her tiny veins —
mine and the brown blood of her father's,
mixed together, perhaps ordained.

Her full lips and tight curls;
her tender, light-brown skin
an intermixing of coffee and cream,
a beautiful blend I once labeled as sin.

My granddaughter's spirit she inherited;
my oddly shaped ears I reluctantly bequeathed;
her grandmother's Irish eyes she merited;
her father's round nose she received.

My dry, withered thumb softly gripped in the palm of a little hand,
sending five separate messages of unconditional love on command,
piercing the remnants of ignorance that grip this...