Thursday, September 6, 2012


Sometimes I have the fantasy that I will find the spotlight.  Usually that fantasy doesn*t last very long.  I am called to serve on the edges, to caulk pieces together.  I am grout:  truly a noble calling. Grout does not fit a marketing niche.

The tile guy
Is halfway through the project.
His grout
Is immaculate.

Last night I dreamed myself
At a clergy convention.
I watched everything,
Observed the son of a
Loquacious colleague
Pontificate before the masses
My colleague beamed
A father*s pride.
His brother asked question after question.
When I looked out
On the assembly
People were leaving right and left.
They*re not listening
I said
Look, they*re leaving!
I said.
My colleague continued to beam
A father*s pride.
Last night I dreamed
A picture being taken
Of the whole Diocese
On stage.
I was under the risers
With a colleague I knew
Had to be in the picture.
I raised her up on my shoulders
So she would appear in the picture
In the middle
Of the back row.

When I woke up
I realized
I am grout:
The necessary caulking
Between the tiles,
Or perhaps the leading
on a stained glass window.

I am not immaculate
Like the tile guy*s grout
Or even Mary.
Still: I am grout.
I make necessary commentary.
Sometimes I lift people on my shoulders
So they can be in the picture.

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