I like this Taylor Mali guy who Mom discovered this year. Check out his poem from the last Easter weekend:
Disaster Restoration
There is a sign outside this morning's window
that reads "Disaster Restoration," and I have no idea
what that means but love it anyway, like a poem,
or the red leaves dispersed among the green, decoration
only God can restore, because it is Sunday and Easter
and raining here in Portland, Oregon, and although that might seem redundant—the part about the rain—last night
was mild in the backyard of The Pointy House where I read
for 90 minutes to a crowd so grateful for the sun I felt I was
preaching the word of God, maybe calling forth the rain, beseeching that sweet wetness for restoration from disaster, or maybe calling it down upon us, as night gently rose on the only day that Jesus never lived.
Disaster Restoration
There is a sign outside this morning's window
that reads "Disaster Restoration," and I have no idea
what that means but love it anyway, like a poem,
or the red leaves dispersed among the green, decoration
only God can restore, because it is Sunday and Easter
and raining here in Portland, Oregon, and although that might seem redundant—the part about the rain—last night
was mild in the backyard of The Pointy House where I read
for 90 minutes to a crowd so grateful for the sun I felt I was
preaching the word of God, maybe calling forth the rain, beseeching that sweet wetness for restoration from disaster, or maybe calling it down upon us, as night gently rose on the only day that Jesus never lived.
And on another note, as of 26 April, I have a new cousin
Welcome to Cedar Harrow Carlson!
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