PLAYING CHURCH

We line up march in to We are Soldiers
one hand fist ball in the small of back
the other swing in rhythm to the march
of organ and head nod musician
direct our song our steps point
to where we stand
enough cousins to make us look like
Junior Usher Board #2

We sang and swoon and pretend faint
under pretend Spirit in pretend pews
made of rusted cans and fallen trees
use pretend fans to cool our brow
as pretend preacher takes pulpit
by storm recite James Weldon Johnson
Sinner oh Sinner where will YOU
be in that Great Gittin' up Mornin'
and We Come This Morning Knee Bowed
and Body Bent Before Thy Throne of Grace
Come Give the Preacher your Hand
and God your Heart
and hoop and sing the close
Come to Jesus Just Now

we lay on grass for Mourner's Bench
Cry for God to Come by Here
and take me Just As I Am
we buck and shout and wave our hands like
Mother's Boards and Women tired
of looking for husbands on Saturday
like Men who Strut Come Sunday
we put leaves in buckets for offerings
sing You Can't Beat God Giving
No Matter How Hard You Try

© Valerie Bridgeman
April 14, 2013

(FEELS LIKE DRAFT)

72 DAYS

I know enough about God
to know not to count the days
not to wait with an expectation
of a specific thing--only to hold
the spoken word close to chest
heart in prayer, remember 
what the bishop said in the heat
of the Spirit with the challenge
hanging in the the air--72 DAYS

I know that wrapped in the plain sense 
of sound is a mystery waiting to unfold, 
to show me something
about my life my future my now
and that 72 is a signal of something
more than days than seconds 
flipping away on clocks

I know God enough to know it
will happen under the cover of
dark of skin of soil
that it will germinate seed of deliverance
that this 2 months and 11 days--
give or take an hour or three--
will change me because I expect it to
wrap me in its soulful arms
tap me on my shoulder when
I am sleep, wake me to its possibilities
shake me into action, make
me know the way things ought to be

and that I will pray my way
to a whole new way of believing
of living of loving of hoping
that in 72 DAYS--just having to 
write it this often, my world
will be new and strange
and I won't count down
to it because 72 is a magic
number until you get to 1

© Valerie Bridgeman
April 13, 2013

THAT MOMENT

That moment when the door

closes behind you and you

realize you left a part of your heart

and the key to it is on the table

next to it and you don't have 

a spare key or anyone inside

willing to let you back in

© Valerie Bridgeman

April 12, 2013

ONLY I CAN

I'm down to the part that only I can do
papers that need sorting/shredding
old letters and faded notes from people
I barely remember
business cards from people
I've never done business with
and won't because we have
no business between us
tissues and expired medicine bottles
empty viles of god knows what

blank journals and some so full
of words they ooze like
sores barely scabbed over
nail polish I have never used
lipstick colors I would never wear
misplaced keys now in view
mocking my long past need of them
jewelry bought because it is cute
worked with some dress but
never worn--Goodwill bound
with the shoes that were just as cute
and just as not worn

and why do I have so many
brushes and hair oil with
mango and tea tree and
cocoa butter and perfume
I've been allergic to for years
where were these pictures
with worn edges and faded
faces and stories of Labor Day
barbecue and dominoes
pinochle and spades
and the music bumping
in the background as 
laughter spilled over the rooms

and these clothes I can no longer
wear and shouldn't even if I could
since they are from another 
era/some part of a life now gone
I've enter my third life now
and these pants this dress
have nothing to do with my present
But only I can know these things
as I sort and throw things away
Only I can make decisions
of go and stay
except for the decisions
made for me that I just
have to accept

© Valerie Bridgeman
April 11, 2013

DO NOTHING

"Sometimes the most courageous thing to do is to do nothing." ~ Toby D. Sanders, Pastor of The Beloved Community

Don't just stand there
Do nothing
make no sudden move
don't call write 
even think
about what you should
could do to fix it
make it better
Be courageous
and let it shake out 
however 
it will

trust Universe to 
do what it do
and be who you 
are and try
your best not 
to mess it up
Stand still like
Mother May I
and never hear
the magic words

"some times the most courageous thing
to do is to do nothing"

© Valerie Bridgeman
April 10, 2013

CONSUMMATE

You can mean EVERY promise 
you make and work to keep them
and still fail miserably

Does that make you 
a consummate liar? 
Or a consummate human being 
who failed miserably? 
Or a miserable consummate failure 
of a lying human being? 

There are unforgivable sins
only if love is limited to the
consummate perfect 
human being
who never ever
breaks a promise
never ever lies
never ever fails

Consummately... Unforgivable .... Yeah....

© Valerie Bridgeman
April 9, 2013

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED (RE-POST)

I hear you are a master puzzler,

able to put jigsaw pieces into place in record time.

I wonder, as I hand you the scraps of my heart,

whether you need thimble and needle instead.

Or if you can lock the pieces 
that have been blown asunder by life,

one by one, into their respective places—

or better yet, if you are an alchemist

who can mix new concoctions from old pain 
and turn it into wisdom

I trust you for no apparent reason except you stayed

for the end of a long story one night.

We sat in a cracked-leather booth in an old diner, dimly lit,

and reeking of bacon, which neither one of us eats.

You nodded in all the appropriate ways and places

while you rested your index finger on my palm.

I thought you were trying to read my lifeline.

Instead, you were throwing me one.

And my heart, unsteady as it was in that moment,

knew it was not a good time to skip a beat.

Music needs consistency. You proved to be a metronome.

And it sounds dramatic, I know, but you saved my life

between French fries and laughter

I sat cross-legged wrapped in a coat, with a scarf covering my head,

shielding myself from the cold and the general onslaught of truth.

I leaned into your every word

as your eyes did most of the talking.

Our knees, barely touching, spoke in tongues

making us believe we could decode languages from other worlds.

You measured your words like ingredients for a pound cake—carefully.

Then you dumped them slowly while you stirred with intensity

matched only by the roaring flames hungry

for the wood crackling underneath it.

And I know it sounds trite, but in that moment,

I could have believed anything.

Over spanakopita, coffee more sugar and cream than ground caffeine,

and music switching between Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror

and some 1950s tune without the words, I offer you my heart.

I say, be careful. Others have left dents and dings

where there should have been kisses. Lift the pieces gingerly,

or sew with abandon as you intone your incantations.

And it sounds like no small thing, I know, to be given a heart—

with some assembly required.

© Valerie Bridgeman

April 7, 2012

RE-POSTED April 9, 2013