fenceline

In my backyard there is a
Barbed-wire fence post falling down
To one side; crooked end showing black
On the leaves.
I bow my back there and I
Bring the post back standing up
And hide the crooked end, throwing bark
In the hole.

But I know it won’t stay upright –
There’s no way that it can –
And I really cannot say I care,
Because the fence line
Is broken in places and the pieces
Are still coiled from anger
And draped head-down over
The splitting stakes.

Now,
This is no poetic mistake.
These are my little crowns.
These are my hard-work life halos.
I hung their red-sprinkled spiral
Hollows on those rusted nails
To remind me of gentle Grace
Released to me a long time ago
From a callous grey gallows.
And most often, they do.

But I here admit that
Sometimes still I sit,
And think along that fence line,
Like when the coyote comes through
Now and then to bear away my fine friends,
Or toddlers that look just like mine
Run full toward their drowning.
Then, I am tempted to unwind
Some of that sharp, strict line
And put that wire fence back up,
At least, for a time.

I tell you, now –
It is my hope,
That though I built them not,
Some boundaries remain;
Although I sacrificed not,
Forgiveness and freedom still reign
In the lives of my children –
And in theirs.

This is my hope.
And I feel it is true,
For just beyond me I see
Blackberry briar hedges growing green
Beside a creek bending and flowing fast
In the rain.