Ode to Meadville. Or, "Out of Ambiguity, Clarity"

I learned in sermon class that if you don't know what to title something, "out of ambiguity, clarity" works for anything you might want to say.  Apparently, the guy who teaches our sermon class doesn't write about troll boogers and tse tse flies as often as I do, because he and I have very different styles for making titles.

I have just gotten my boys off to school, savouring and delighting in every little ordinary moment--I've missed them so much.  And before I dive into the mamoth sea of work awaiting my attention, I want to share the poem that jumped into my mind yesterday.  Fellow Meadville students, I sure miss you--even as I'm firework-giddy-happy to be back at home!

 

Fold

 

I would not say "broken hearted"

as though hearts were solid creatures 

that were either still

or cracking

 

As I fold socks and shirts to fill my suitcase

I realize that I have been

holding my breath for three weeks

 

I have been trying to freeze the very moments

that I have been pushing through

 

 

 

 

we could see the chicago skyline from every window

and it framed each conversation

the jagged architecture of buildings and shoreline supporting

the soft expanse of sky that curled into the folds of the concrete

 

inside the walls, our mixed textures allowed us

to catch hold of an ideas

feelings

and people

 

 

 

 

Yesterday, in little pods of inadequate good byes

we exhaled one another 

and for a moment there is a feeling of

no oxygen

 

In planes, trains, and cars we are momentary breathless

wrinkled

and jagged

before we step into the warm fabric of life and home and loved ones

 

 

 

but it is this rhythm of inhale and exhale

that allows us to change shape without splitting in two

 

the noise of good bye, then, is not a break

but the soft ripping sound that velcro makes

as two pieces separate

 

 

this hook and eye type of closure

can be easily mistaken for a burr

and it would be, if we were not creatures

built to change shape

 

we can hold far more

than we can keep

 

we can be a part of far more 

than we could ever carry

 

Comments

[A garoo]

Love the poem. Thank you.

On a different theme: Your suggested sermon title reminded me that someone told me early in my career that whenever I was stuck trying to write the first sentence of an article, I could just start by typing: "Recently, ..." The sentence that ensues can be discarded later but it gets the article started. So maybe that sermon title could work the same way: not for actual use, but to get started. Out of ambiguity in your strong bond with your colleagues, the beautiful clarity of Velcro and folding.

Thank you again.

[Laura McNaughton]

Thanks for the poem! And for 'troll boogers' - you just don't see that in print often enough!

Welcome home, Liz!

[Liz]

I like the "recently" idea, garoo. I usually start with "my kids...". My preaching proff last week said, after I preached my first sermon "and now, you should do your second one without including stories about your kids" and I thought ulp, better change which one I'm using. So I went home and couldn't find a single piece of writing that met that description... uh, oh...

[Ed Proulx]

No, no! You have it backwards! Not out of ambiguity, clarity, the other way around! Are there really any ordinary moments?

[Liz]

Ed, couldn't it be "both/and"? Oh, wait, no, that's just what I say sometimes when I'm wrong... You are definitely right. I had it backwards.