The Heart of It
—After
Marcus Borg
Fiducia*
They zipped up their jackets
and flew out the door into
winter fog and traffic.
What rooted me then,
kept me from running after?
No assurance except
the necessity to allow
breath and space, and
the memory of a flax field
in childhood, how once I
lay down it its blue blooming
and felt the sky encircle me.
Fidelitus*
The tree is upside-down,
she said. Roots must be
pulled out and thrust
upward where they tremble,
drying. Birds settle there,
sing of release and of
earth’s fragrance.
A tree cannot live in such
reversal unless it drinks
song and sky.
Vision*
The Lover is both earth
and air as we stand
in silent embrace.
What language shall I borrow
to speak this doubleness
of clinging and letting go?
In a dream there are no
words, only the warmth
of cheek against cheek,
full recognition, and calm.*fiducia: radical
trust; fidelitas: no other gods;
visio: seeing it whole
—Jean Janzen,
Fresno, California, is an award-winning
poet. This poem is from her forthcoming
collection of poetry, Paper House.
Communion
Box
In
a box lined with mirrors
are rows and rows of glass cups
filled with red wine. Open
the lid to see the generations
of rims, to inhale the sweet
ferment. Then reach in.
Look, your hand is everywhere,
lifting one cup, no,
a hundred, or thousand
in every direction. Drink now
with all the others who
this day lift life to their lips.
Then go, holding within you
the crush, hallways of mirrors,
and the wooden box,
its slices of tree and its nails,
all of it covered with
the skin of a lamb, still open
and shivering where you
entered with your hand.
—Jean Janzen.
This poem is from her forthcoming
collection, Paper House.
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