Sandwich

I come and do the usual.

I pay the bills,
although first I
must search for them
where you have squirreled them away
like acorns
against a cold winter.

I do the dishes
although this merely involves
loading and unloading the dishwasher.

I do the laundry,
trying to push away
feelings of guilt
because I know
my standards
and abilities
are way below
what yours were.

I open the fridge
to throw away old milk
and decide that it must be cleaned--
a chore I don't do nearly often enough
at home.

I make you sandwiches
from the meat and
various shaped breads
that comes from
the ladies
from Meals on Wheels.

I explain that the check
in your purse
that you guard so jealously
is one from a year ago
and has already been deposited
and returned
by the bank.

I try
to keep you
safe.

Sin

I look inside
and see
the worm of sin
that is eating
my soul.

Oh, Jesus!
Break the bonds
of sin
that have entangled me.

Help me to be
a generous servant
to your people.

Dad

you came
back from the shadows
of my dreams
to help me cope

with my waking reality

you seemed to say,

you can call on me now
i'll be there
to answer

I explained today
to you
and you were there

suddenly
and in plain view
sharply focused
with the clarity
that comes

with time