shake the dust

I don’t know what it is about this poem that really resinates with me.  I find it incredible. If you like music you probably love poetry, you just don’t know it yet.  I like that poetry doesn’t need music to be a song.  I think there is something vulnerable about performing poetry that is beautiful.  It lets people in, it shakes things up.

I was just sitting next to a dad who was teaching his kids art.  This dad is in a wheelchair and drives one of those van conversons for folks who can’t walk.  He was fathering his children, leading them to a deeper understanding of drawing comics.  They were even reading Calvin and Hobbs. (some of my favorite reading as a kid)  He wasn’t cynical.  I am sure there are dark days for him.  Being paralyzed from the waist down and having two boys must be difficult.  But this was a guy who shook the dust.  He didn’t let it get to him, at least not from what I saw.

I began to see his life as poetry.

I couldn’t hear what he was saying or what what his kids were saying.  But there was something there.  Maybe it was the gentleness and the genuine happiness he appeared to have.  I don’t see that with the working stiff.

Maybe it was the Love for his boys.

Whatever it was.  I had a hard time not staring at this guy.  Not watching him interact with his kids.  There was a redemptive quality about it.

I wonder how people see my interactions with others.  I wonder if anyone really sees?  I wonder if people see my bent for peace and redemption.  Or do they see a working stiff?


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