The God of Second Chances
Your shadow darkens the sidewalk,
an unfamiliar thing, a bit thinner,
a bit more opaque than you remember,
still, it is you, cast in the afternoon light,
today’s version, this hour’s version,
less perhaps than you once were,
but also more, more depth,
the depth of surviving
your own weaknesses and broken places,
the weak places lovers and enemies
know too well. No wonder
you fear love as much as you crave it.
But you are six years in to your new life.
and it has changed you.
The wounds no longer weep
and you see sunlight far more easily
than you have for decades.
It has not erased the dark places,
but you have learned,
even if the recognition comes slowly,
how to discern the truth,
how to fly upward, through the slats
of shadow demons of your soul,
to the light.
About this poem.
Written as I sit outside of my backup diner (My favorite diner is not open on Thursday mornings). It is a love poem. A poem about depression held at bay. A poem about an art installation at Oleana, the homestead of Hudson River artist Frederic Edwin Church. A poem of Thanksgiving.
I am three years into my second marriage, in a relationship that goes back about six years. It is a whole new thing, this marriage, and I still wonder at it. God is good, our God of second chances.
The picture is from inside the installation.