What do I do in the Target parking lot? Write poetry--sometimes. Here’s what came to mind on a recent shopping trip, when all the new things in the bags didn’t seem quite as special as the things you can’t buy...

***

Stories My Parents Told Me

I have discovered something I always knew:

Our stories are our currency, our common faith.

The marks my mother makes me see,

across the decades,

left by hoboes on the family’s fenceposts.

The hope and fear my father helps me feel,

riding on a bus to Washington in ’63,

on a journey to a dream.

Each story, like the gift at the top of the list,

enchants me.

Brighter than gold,

the light of love and faith.

***

FYI, if you’re wondering about the photo, it’s of me, on my father’s shoulders, with my mother sitting in the background.

Any questions or comments? Just send me an email.