God's Thief

Art by Jeff Blum Copyright 2018

 By Lynne Spigelmire Viti 

God sees me carry the stones from the seashore, smooth
gray rocks I cradle two at a time, pulling them close
to my belly, carrying them like the physical therapist said to.
If it’s against the law to carry these rocks home
to my garden, well then, I’m God’s thief.
God sees me snap off the forsythia branches, try
to speed up spring, make sunlight and  water
push out small green leaves, butter-yellow blooms.
They brighten my Spartan workroom.
God sees me out among the weeds and the damp spring soil
when I should be writing.
God knows the faces of our friends are drawn tight
in those last days before their bodies give out, their souls
still burning hard and bright in our memories.

If only God weren’t so silent, so distant with us,
if only God would pull up a chair, act like
a parent imparting advice, say, When I was your age,Rome wasn’t built in a day, keep your friends close—

I’ve gathered so many rocks now, each time wondering
when God will show God’s self, or give me a sign—
not a miracle exactly, but a perfect rose, then another,
a summer of roses, safe behind a wall of sea-smoothed rocks.

Acknowledgement: This poem originally appeared in The South Florida Poetry Journal, August 2016.

Lynne Viti is the author of Baltimore Girls (2017) and The Glamorganshire Bible (2018), both  from Finishing Line Press. She blogs at stillinschool.wordpress.com. Jeff Blum has been a life-long peace activist and community organizer who took up painting after he retired from USAction, which he helped found.  He is a regular in art classes and seeing where it leads him.