twelve hours of daylight
We first wrote “twelve hours of daylight” in 2016 as part of an anthology (FEAST) of spoken word poems that are still unpublished. Like most of our work, we take our deep love of the scriptures and weave them together to speak to current realities. In this particular poem, there are a few references to cities, including Vancouver and Montreal, where we were living at the time of writing. For reference, these are the scriptures referenced (including this Sunday’s gospel passage):
John 19:25–27 (Mary looking at her son on the cross)
John 11:1–44 (Lazarus and Mary)
Luke 4:1–15 (Trials of Jesus)
Luke 15:11–32 (Prodigal Sons)
Genesis 7–9 (Flood Narrative)
Matthew 20:15 (Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard)
Mark 5:1–20/Luke 8:26–38 (Jesus heals the demon-possessed man)
twelve hours of daylight
by scraps and wine
we’ve untamed him, let him detract from our grasp
let him pry his chubby hands from around our thumbs and fingers
His sisters watched him unwind, unbind the books in the library
Nimble they go, all too quickly grown
All can be calculated in the circuit of the city
Whose voice said it? Who thought it?
Which brother was buried away, hidden in day
Around and around til he throws up at dawn
We saw that through the door frame
Better at dawn than in the car ride home with his sisters frowning
Patches loosen and soles fall away
Bare with empty wind, flapping pockets sticky now
Shivering, quivering
Strong arms hold him fast, secure, only to throw him out
As doors behind him slam shut, alleyway become dump and tomb
they say we shut the door
Was it not to keep his flooded questions from invading our drought?
If we let him speak, would not that allow the serpent to only bring in doubt?
He’ll tarnish the rest, varnish our name with rust
Are we not allowed to do what we choose with what belongs to us?
Or are you envious because we are generous?
And so he lays his head down with the swine.
Sweat singing around the crows feet that would come
we saw the swine in his eyes, in their eyes:
wild, unkempt, ready to leap off the cliff,
though this sickness will not end in death
But we see the body, see the husks, shelled out for the swine to eat,
they chose the crisis on the streets they walked.
Stole onto the bus without a ticket
Twelve hours of daylight, enough for them to find what they need to survive
Stumbling about as if without light: we gave them streetlamps
He will get better, they said - we have no need to go and search
They will get better, we said, we built them hospitals, paid their taxes, gave them their due
twelve hours of daylight,
the music of the sirens sing us awake in our apartment windows
“You could go to him”
That would be a father’s prerogative
Caring and loving, dutiful and right
No more a mountain unto himself
Your daughter could carry the weight
The estate gone to irresponsible waste
Dribbling away in poisoned veins within the circuit of the city
But your wealth is great, you could carry the cost
Write it off the next year, make something out of the rocks
he’s on the rocks, running off the rocks,
drinking scotch with rocks
Kneel and he could have it all, we could have it all
Do you not want your friends to see you do such a mighty work, a great healing?
You could tell him he’s wrong, bandage all his wounds
I could give you the spell to command him to return
you split ends while ignoring who we are.
Let us be the fool
Then we’ll take the boy.
He chose to leave. We chose to give space
Then we’ll take the boy.
They re-zoned the apartment he was in.
We shall not use injustice as a form of outreach
But your movement, your name: Are you not Abba?
I am who I am. Begone,
his babbling and giggles still grace the edges of our memories,
when we held him to breast for the very first time
The boxed panes rattle, as if to announce any presence but the wind
We turn and turn again at the sound
Our heart milling and mixing in the trough, ground up against the rocks,
we’re ground up on the rocks
The waters crash on cobbled streets,
amidst all the endless snow and construction
Grieving for the coast and city to collide
Built together for us to reside
He takes the bus along Hastings each day
Never going anywhere, no defined destination
Just thinking and looking
While I fixate on the business, on the day-to-day
Washing the dishes he eats from, making sure he can get to the washroom,
Helping him find the bus pass he keeps losing, he keeps losing
Our eyes trace the well-worn landscape,
the same faces, the same places -
I know my son and my daughters
We came upon the face and features of Bethany
he could see our face in the rear-view mirror
Why did you not come sooner? Why this feast? With too many tears?
let our tears come.
let them rain upon the land.
weeping upon it with a kiss
Tear upon tear upon tare: layers amidst our astonished stares
This isn’t appropriate: don’t you sweep up glass shards and throw them out
You don’t pick them up with your hands
to cut your hands open on jagged edges
it is when a person walks at night
that they stumble for they do not have a light
On Notre Dame she breaks open and weeps
Watching the men on their crosses: her kin as the criminal
From the dark she steps into the softly glowing streetlight
Your friend is dead - Your son is dead - our friends….
and we wept
“See, how much He loved him!”
and we hiked our robes, and ran for him
Reflection Questions:
We tend to like overlapping stories of scripture. What meaning arises for you as you consider this poem?
What do the different images evoke for you?
Are there particular voices within the poem that resonate with you?