Friday morning

Emerge from the apartment early. Friday is “lone ranger” day: Jon is still fast asleep in his room. Skyped with Josh this morning. Looked at some pictures. Sat eternally.
Pulled on my dusty brown “Diesel”-brand shoes. Grabbed sweatshirt and jacket, for Fall is evident in visible breath as I place journal, Bible, and planner into book bag.
One sun beam comes through the window in the stairwell of my apartment. I look out the window at four birds dancing on the rooftop across the alley. Railing, hallways, and stairs are dirty. Everything is, I suppose.
It’s clear day today. Whistling as I pass the man who lives in the little room at the birth of our apartment complex. I wave. He smiles and nods, as he always does.
Walk over the broken, crumbling sidewalks: dirty, badly formed, misshapen; beautiful.
I dare traffic, passing woman wearing apron, holding up pita stuffed with egg and lettuce with extra “lade” sauce in her hand. She wants me to buy it. Some other morning, I’m sure of it.
Ahead, I feel the drum roll. Not some metaphorical beats from the tribal heat rising up inside of me:
Four men sit on the back of a pick-up truck swinging their arms back and forth, producing a rhythmical tenor as their fingers engage wooden mallets meeting the side of plastic, metal, and animal hide.

“Open…”

There it is.

Toe twitch a faintly foreign fit too familiar to be anything but what will be.


“Open up your…”

Come on, let it in.

Feet switch with the toe twitch too familiar to be anything but what faith will be.


“Open up your doors and let the music in, let the streets resound with…”

Resound with a new sound found among the refound.


Way down below, the cavernous depths below,
dips the tip of Lazarus’s finger, finds one
water drop pausing eternally before another’s
tongue: crusty and brittle as someone from the dead.

Somehow, here, bits of grass can grow
Even between cracks in a sidewalk
Next to the ashes of paper money
Burned to earn these dead the turn they yearn today:

Sweet faith, spring forth anew this day!
Whisper somewhere between tightly shut eyes
And the torrent rising inside my mind, “I do
Believe—oh, dear Hope! Help my unbelief!”



“Open up the doors and let the music play,
let the streets resound with singing,
songs that bring Your hope, songs that bring Your joy
dancers who dance upon injustice.
Swing wide ye heavenly gate,
prepare the way of the risen son!” –Sonicfold


I look over to my right: the old man huddled in a green coat is staring at me.
“Ni hao!” I say to him with a slight wave. He smiles back at me.
I can’t decided if he’s staring at me because I just got done dancing and singing or if he’s just staring like everyone stares.

Bus #37 pulls up. Onward, we go…