I Wish
I wish
if I am going to get that close to death
that I could see it. Why didn’t I
see Jesus?
Why didn’t I see the pearly gate, or
talk to St. Peter?
Maybe I did this, but I don’t
remember. Maybe I am
destined for hell. But I’ve already
been there.
Hell is not so far away. And I called
myself a Christian.
And I went to hell. Maybe they need some
kindly influence
in those hellish parts. In those hospital
parts.
I wish I could remember something earth
shaking
to tell my family. What happens when you
die?
I wish
—Christine R. Wiebe, Hillsboro,
Kansas, was born in 1954 and died in 2000
after battling lupus much of her life. As
her mother Katie Funk Wiebe reports, she
wrote mainly about relationships,
especially family relationships; hospital
experiences and dying; and her love of
nature and language. She struggled with
the role of faith as it related to her
slowly deteriorating body. Her gravestone
inscription summarizes her life and
faith: “Daughter, sister, friend.
Though heart and body fail, God is my
possession forever. Psalm 73:26.”
Except for one poem by another author,
the poetry sections of this issue of DreamSeeker
Magazine are dedicated to Christine
and her moving words.For a
Thousand Nights
You love us with the blue of the
evening,
the green that graces the gray bark of
the birch.
You put us all to bed with the silver
kisses of stars.
All night you rock us gently between the
planets
holding the day in check with all your
strength.
—Christine R. Wiebe
This
Slow Disrobing
I am writing a letter
to a man I’ve never met.
He has no face.
I am telling him
about the clothes
I am taking off.
With each letter,
another layer
falls at my feet.
He does the same for me.
Perhaps this way we will give each other
faces.
—Christine R. Wiebe
I
Was Only Looking, Or,
So I Will Wait A Little Longer
Last night we went to the
hospital
and I saw a doorway
filled with orange and yellow light
silence sounding
and all the pain of a life leaving
and I wanted to step into the doorway
and lie on the bed
But my sister begged me
to come away.
So I will wait a little longer.
—Christine R. Wiebe
God's
Grace
It’s like this:
It’s your turn to do dishes
and you’ve let them pile up
over the table and the stove
and the chairs and the top of the
refrigerator,
and your roommate, who hates doing
dishes,
having nothing better to do
out of love for you
washes every last one.
—Christine R. Wiebe
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