i wrote this to Barbara one night after evening prayer. it was a pretty close transcript of that conversation. i ran across it last night and decided to post it here.
hey, bob,
O Great Gracious God
gaping, grinding, glowering
gibbous grinning
it isn't so much that you have a sense of humor
as you are the sense of humor
you'd have to be
otherwise there's no explaining the platypus.
you are so awesomely awesome
and i know i railed against ticks
and suggested maybe you were having an off day
and i swear i heard you laugh
but someone pointed out to me
how marvelously made
is the tick;
an animal that can live eighteen months
without a meal.
and today when i went to kneel at the altar
and managed to get tangled in my own feet
and fall quite painfully;
i asked you rather pointedly
if it was your idea of a joke
and if it was
i didn't think it was funny
and i know you heard me laugh
anyway.
maybe slapstick
is simple enough
for both of us to understand
together.
i went to sing you a song
but giggled right through it
and i like to think
you didn't mind.
yesterday i was feeling my wounds
and didn't feel much like singing
but we sang anyway
and i laughed
just because you ARE.
these days
loss
just heaps up on loss
except that i feel myself quite firmly in your hand
and if i get lucky
i can feel you in my hand
and i might as well laugh.
it's OK, you said.
just think of me, you said.
so all right; i will.
i will, i will, i will.
you are the pratfall, the knock-knock,
the elephant joke
signed for the deaf
you are the whole of the punchline
and you know i always said i'd be a lot happier
if someone would only
tell me the punchline.
in the night
while i sleep
and during the day
in every breath
you are there
to whisper it in my ear:
the whole of the joke
spinning, swirling, staid and stalwart
breaking waves of sound and taking
leaving light and coming running
caving stillness, starfish sunning
light and leaning loving laughter
you are before and also after
you are
you are
you are
i know you are;
i heard you laugh.
