I see the souls of strangers in airports. Souls are all about. The tenderness and mercy of God falls around me. How can I tell you? How can anyone talk about the true life of that small woman pulling her luggage? Inside her bag the linens damp with tears.
**
It’s kindness I’m after. Not cheap forgiveness. I’ve been wronged over and over. And I will stay open and expectant and free in my immaterial parts.
**
Some mornings, to cheer myself I think about Noah’s Ark. There must have been a pair of Sasquatch aboard.
You know I’m onto something.
In Eric Wiener’s review of John Zada’s book “In the Valleys of the Noble Beyond: In Search of the Sasquatch” we learn that “you see a Sasquatch only if you’re undergoing a personal crisis.”
Yesterday in the elevator of a suburban Washington, DC Hilton I saw a tiny Sasquatch with a head like a fuzzy anvil. He was checking in to the executive suite.
How did I get here from seeing souls in airports? Perhaps you can help me?
**
Sasquatch have souls.
**
I have this life which I do not understand
I have death approaching which I do not understand
I have this body which is a staircase
A long list of the dead
Is like music
And the car hurries obedient
I promise that today I shall do some small good
I’d beg forgiveness
If I knew where to stop
Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University
