Aldon Hynes's blog

Waiting

It wasn’t how difficult
the hiding place was
to find
that mattered.

It was that they would get
so close
and you hoped to be found
and not found
at the same time.

It was that they kept searching
for you
sometimes close enough
for them to hear
your heart pounding
if they only paused
and listened.

Years later
when you turned
and walked away,
although you wouldn’t admit it,
you held your breath
waiting for them
to run after you;
afraid they would,
afraid they wouldn’t.

Now,
you sit quietly
patiently
wondering
who is left
to come.

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The Table

Despite the piles
of medical bills
and legal notices
and so many other things
that demand attention
they managed to share
their special meal
at the family table.

Despite the unspoken
broken feelings of pain
around issues new
and old
there was still
time and space
around the table
for comfort food.

Just as
ages ago
there was still time
for bread and wine
around the table
before He was handed over
to suffering and death.

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The Old Trail

It was an old trail
I’d often travelled as a child
on foot, on sled, on bike, on horse.

It passed the rope swing
out over the steep drop off
then up the hill
through the field
where the abandoned house was.

I remember the left hand turn
through the pine grove
where the ground was soft
with brown pine needles.

It was quiet in there
and every sound
and every motion
seemed amplified.

You could stand there
forever
and listen
to the chickadee
in a distant tree
to the chipmunk
and squirrel
running along the branches,
and especially
to the unknown.

Beyond the grove,
the path forked;
uphill to the right
passing behind the neighbor’s barn
and downhill to the left
towards the old scout camp.

Straight ahead was the stream,
too small to fish
but you might see some minnows there,
various water bugs,
or if you sat
quietly,
long enough,
something mysterious.

I would sit there
on those long summer days
waiting for a blessing
I had already received.

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Sweet and Sour Soup

The rich man complained
that the soup lacked
sufficient
meat and vegetables
and I searched with my spoon
for my own nourishment.

The grieving mother moaned
that the soup was too sour and spicy
and I carefully tasted it
prepared for disappointment.

Then the homeless man rejoiced
at the simple succulent meal,
the warmth and many flavors
and I shared with him
the manifold pains and joys
of each moment.

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The Story

We are an improv team
telling our common story
about the elephant in the room.

We talk about
the trunk and the tail
the flank and the legs
and the gifted
might even
describe how various parts
are connected.

We are an improv team
telling our common story
about the elephant in the room.

and the way we tell the story
shapes us
and shapes those around us
as we try to understand
what is unique;
what is universal.

We are an improv team
telling our common story
about the elephant in the room.

It is a story about
birth
and death
and joy
and suffering
and still
we have problems
understanding
how the various parts
are connected.

We are an improv team
telling our common story
about the elephant in the room,

and by telling the story
we create meaning
and healing.

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