....west coast blues

     THE MISSION was empty, mostly, a couple of gardeners waving to me from across the hedge, stopping for a moment from trimming and raking the tidy grounds. In the parking lot a hearse waited for the funeral to conclude.

     Recently, vandals poured paint on the statue memorial of Junipero Serra up in Carmel. Inside the grounds at Mission San Gabriel the statue is in a corner courtyard and stands unharmed.

     It was peaceful in the cemetary, the wrought iron gates open, rows of headstones planted in the grass, a ridge line of the San Gabriel Mountains rising in the north.

  Everything was typed out on the page, all of it

Or most of it, I think

Important things, anyway

My fears

Growing old

Financial security

Social Security,

but are we really secure?

Can I write? What if I am no good?

(Does anyone notice…then why are you reading this now?)

My pet’s names, my lost loves, forgotten ones too

(I’m sorry, really, but I don’t remember her name, or that one, and she’s kind of vague, now, too)

All of it was there on the page

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Then I erased everything except what I had for dinner

A big pizza and some red wine

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Sonora Pass, Sierra Nevada, California.

                                   School of Theology