Hopscotching (part 2 of 2)

Hopscotching 2

The ball blinds me,

leaves God in his chariot

on some foreign street.

I can’t hear the wheels

approaching as I pray.

I bow to my neighbor

hoping she has a word

that will drag me forward

past the limit of my mind,

focus my vision

toward the grocery store

where lemons are ten cents a pound.

Without my neighbor

pulling me out of myself

removing folds of wool,

a blue scarf feet long,

which prevents my breath

from coming naturally.

I must think air and swallow.

The mechanics of life, my experiences

sometimes cut off the spiritual

leaving me to sift through nonsense,

afraid of the person in the line behind me

banging his items onto the conveyer belt,

the noise reminding me

of my father’s fist landing a blow

on the wall beside my head.

Maybe the force causes me

to see God with a wrench,

the wrench rusted with blood.

Be not afraid. Be very afraid.

Return me to the chalk in summer.