Faith is a Radical Master

Walt McDonald

When tomorrow comes, try taking a nap,
or rearrange the room. Install new locks,
jog even though it snows. Know nothing.
Sing only notes, no words you've ever heard.

Slowly open books like bottles sealed
with capsules for your blood. Jogging,
forget your heart, make contact an art.
Hold hands for hours. Fill bookends

with baby boots and might-have-beens,
raise shelves for wall-to-wall whatnots,
the knickknacks of your life.
When a grandchild dies, no one

knows what to do. Blame no one.
Clichés and hugs are neighbors' loaves
and fish, so take them home
and spread them on the table, and wait.

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