wanted to

   As I review folder after folder, it has become clear to me, Dad was interested in his babies, his boys. His was a time before digital photos and cellphone selfies. Despite all the time it must have taken, he developed the film himself in his basement darkroom and made 8 by 10 inch prints using light-sensitive chemicals. He did lots and lots and lots of them, because he WANTED TO.

Whether next to a water barrel with Mom and me at the pool, 

or in the kitchen with me in the high chair wearing my shoe brace.

Out doors on the front step with Mom and my brother Paul and me, 

or asking Mom to get Dad and me me fit blocks into the play skool roof. 

Mom pushing me on the Concordia campus with Jesse Hall in the background...

as well as me chomping on a strap...

and his two sons by the door. 

Past our drive way at the Con cor dia apart ments on Sixth Street

or Dad holding me on his lap

or the happy faces in the mirror.

So it was no surprise that he caught me holding a pocket mag nify ing glass up to my eye, me stand ing in the mid dle of his art room at home, or the cray on in my hand on paper he set out for me to scrawl on.

How I held the big hand le and  watch ed the dab bles of water color ap pear on the paper pad he set out for me to use. Me in the mid dle of his art room, under his sup ervi sion. 

Building,

making,

eating, 

chatting,

and

reading,

sharing,

looking at art,

the two of us on the living room floor.

In the garage, me on the tricycle and Paul on the wagon.

looking,

drawing,

sticking,

writing and drawing.

Dad took lots and lots of pictures.

I see it now. He did all that work and all the time it took him, because he wanted to.

poem by km

 

He caught it on film. 

The cycle 

in motion, 

from flower 

to fruit. 

Stand still 

and 

gaze at it. 

The Multiplier of cells 

brings this pregnancy 

to full term. 

Behold, His hand at work. 

This One, engaged. 

His system of circulation 

and 

respiration 

is regulated 

by what He has coded. 

The flower withers 

and soon, 

soon 

the flesh of an apricot 

will be ready 

to pluck 

and eat 

and savor. 

                                                              

The biologist 

knows more than I,  

what mechanics are in play 

for this stage to happen. 

This slide, 

this moment, this meditation, 

this exultation, 

this shout out to HIM, 

this hurrah, 

this trumpet blast, 

this pronouncement to this One, 

THIS one, HE, 

he makes, 

he makes a way forward 

in my day. 

His interest in me, 

his engagement 

with those I walk by,

 his conversation 

with his flock, 

his sheep know his voice, 

he calls them out by name, 

he names me, 

I am HIS, I belong to Lovely Majestic 

Gracious Transcendent 

Jesus 

Father 

Spirit 

Engineer and Manager.
        I place my song in YOUR hands, 

O King, O Friend, 

O Savior, 

O Lover, 

O Shepherd.

Thank you Marx for this ticket in, 

to your thoughts, 

your whispers of glory, 

your fascination, 

your worship, 

your call 

--

to stand still 

--

and 

remember.