Kay Saunders Emerging Poet
Honorable Mention

Mike Gadzik

Three ribbons roll out before us.

To our left, the swollen river of Spring rain relentlessly uncoils
A tiger of grace, menace, and inevitability.
It purrs out a warning. Do not fight me. You will lose.

To our right, the mural of painted origami birds on a wall whose end we cannot see
Sings a bright, sad song of playful preschool days.
It asks, “Remember when this teenager beside you was a little master of ancient art?
And all the joy, all the joy, all the joy?
You can never go back there again.”

And under our feet, the path
Of unforgiving asphalt
As we walk together into the future.
She points out a worm
Struggling there, pushed by the water where it doesn’t belong
One half plump and prime, the other dried up and dying.
She says, “I’ve never seen one like that before.”
I want to tell her, “Oh Sweetheart,
You see one every day,”
But I don’t.

This morning’s sermon was about living into the timelessness of God.
But in this sacred moment,
I am profanely and gloriously trapped by what is, what was, and what will be.