August Tanka

Once pitiable,
these simple blind eyes, aging,
confess arrogance
and see now not dearth's house
but one upright, in paradise.


(c) 2012 Laura Devaisher

Truck, Bajaj, Foot

Driving by the beggar woman in my truck, I see her crumpled, crippled legs
dragging behind her on the concrete.
In a bajaj, the mud caking her feet is broken by flies landing on trying-to-heal scrapes
By foot, her yellowed eyes are shattered by a hundred red capillaries.
She answers my shikamoo with a dull marahaba as I drop coins into her hand.

When I drive my truck into town,
the ladies walking with tubs of mchicha on their heads seem very slow-moving.
From a bajaj, they look like they are enjoying their talking and walking.
When I walk, I greet them and learn they have been up for several hours already,
happy to be selling their bean leaves
and getting back to their children and dinner preparations.

By truck, I pass twelve bajajis in a row, waiting for customers at the Kawe roundabout.
From my bajaj, I see the drivers sitting on blocks behind the line of moneymakers
and behind them, two women preparing lunch at a stand near the corrugated wall.
On foot, the little boy sitting in the doorway behind the charcoal cooker becomes visible.
His mother smiles at his curiosity at the passing mzungu woman.

From the truck, the new duka near the roundabout seems interesting
By bajaj, I see chicken feeders
made from galvanized steel plates with an upside-down bucket on top.
Reminders of those my father made for our chickens when I was young.
On foot, I stop and touch homemade baskets and furniture from all over the city
and choose a sweet treat for my children.

In the truck, I see the babu, in his taqiyah, leaning against the wall.
By bajaj, I notice his left leg is missing.
On foot, I offer a meek shikamoo.
He doesn’t seem to notice me.

In my truck, the hijab of the woman walking along the road looks hot and uncomfortable.
From my bajaj, I see the fine embroidery and detail in the tailored overgarmet, and notice her perfect eye makeup and stylish sandals underneath.
By foot, we exchange warm greetings and she invites me to join her for lunch at her favorite local spot.

Christ Eve Poem

Waiting
for my Christ-time rituals
idols of my upbringing
Yet rich in their absence
eternity for eternity
Waiting
Waiting
For possibilities
from the God of possible
Waiting
Paitently and not
for the baby King
God in skin
eternity in time

Praying
me of little faith
to faithfulness embodied
mortal to forever
impossible to possible
nothing to all

Waiting
for faith resilient
patience beyond me
for understanding beyond understanding
in restless peace

Believing
promises
your sureness
your rightness
beyond my perpetually flawed reason
you are beyond time
eternal spirit
born tonight.

Mother's Day Meditation

A prayer born this Mother's Day, 2010:

Holy Spirit, cultivate in my heart infinite desire for holiness;
search my heart, straighten me to you.

Spirit of Christ, teach me.
ABBA, Father, discipline and comfort.

Let my lips speak only truth,
sharpen my discernment in your fire.
Let me hunger and thirst for your Word forever.

Rain your Spirit on my soul:
Fire that refines,
Wind giving life and breath,
Oil of anointing, preparing and maintaining, sustaining, restoring.
Dove of peace, of fulfilled promises,
bring courage and boldness and joy
like wine poured in celebration.

Seal my heart
that I may live with you always.