It is Time
By: Courtney Beck
In our pursuit of everything
Have we forgotten to focus in
On the one thing
That just might steady our neurotic nerves?
The ones that say “I’m starving”
while sitting mere steps from the
“All You Can Eat Buffet.”
The ones that orchestrate indebtedness
on the account with limitless funds.
What if the only thing we really need
Is a watch.
Not the kind that tells us we’re late,
But the one with the steady hands
That reminds us to refer to our calendars
And the lessons of the long years.
Surely, we can keep time to a
far more enduring calendar.
Surely, we can look beyond December 25th
and all its glitter and unfortunate fuss.
I beg you not ask me how I know this,
But the truth is a gift if you’ll allow it.
There’s a moment in the future
when the body beckons your people forward
as a gift for the ones that would
brave your farewell.
If grace has been welcomed,
and surely it awaits your invitation,
We will surround your majestic oak
of a life, in love.
If grace has been welcomed
we’ll sit beneath your shade, and,
in an activated miracle, agree to
trade any hint of manufactured warmth
for the depth of a fireside chat.
If only we would come as we are.
If only we’d absorb the cost of
this fine wine.
It is time.
The hands on the watch are abundantly clear.
You must prepare for Christmas, this Christmas,
in the wilderness. (Blase)¹
¹ Blase, John. “What Such a Claim Might At Last Entail.” The Jubilee, Bright Coppers Press, p.10
Courtney Beck Writes 