I am trying to understand my parents’
life from their point of view
and keep overlaying it with my experience.
I am haunted by what they had,
by what I’ve lost and what I’ve found
so similar but for the language I cannot
speak. Their causal-serious acceptance
of mystery in all things great and small
and what they grasped from those moments
that could not be held for long never
weakening their grip. I think of whatever
strength I may have as a gift. The way
they thought of life. The way the red sky
on the horizon is this morning –
being awake at the right time and place
to see such beauty and natural order.
They lived awake in the dream
of grace and salvation. I admit to resurrections
in my life; another mystery
they embraced as if breathing.
They are three decades dead.
The hymn, Love Lifted Me, haunts.
The red sky of morning warning is now blue.
It is Sunday morning.
-Byron Hoot
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