Carolyn Martin

raking leaves with jesus

This afternoon I was thinking how remarkable 

these sugar maple leaves are in our backyard. 

For weeks they floated down in colors so miraculous 

I’d fling my rake aside and scoop handfuls up

with my bare hands. I’d squeeze yellows, oranges, 

burgundies, trying to grasp their grace and tint.

I almost pinned them down today when He wandered in.

Flannel shirt, faded jeans, sandals impractical 

for autumn rain. I looked twice, then twice again. 

Clean-shaved face, auburn hair. Nowhere near

how He appears in statues or stained glass.

He was in the neighborhood, He said. 

Free time on His hands. Loaves and fishes packed. 

His guys sleeping off a wedding feast. 

Ever since the news about His mother and fine wine, 

He said, invitations multiplied. Anyway, He was loving 

one day on His own without arguments about whose kin

He was or where He lived for all those missing years.

He pulled out gardener’s gloves, grabbed 

my steel-tined rake, and set to work without

so much as a would you mind?

We chatted about lilies, birds, mustard seeds; 

how He shaped His parables; I, my verse. 

I asked if Judas was set up. Was He in love

with Magdalene? What about Lazarus?

I had my doubts, I said. Tales told secondhand 

can muddle truth with facts. He didn’t say a word.

His eyes advised some things are better left.

In our quiet truce, His piles grew knee-high,

my hands soaked colors in. Before we knew,

the afternoon was on the run so we let loose. 

Two raucous kids kicking leaves toward the sky, 

freeing them to coat our clothes,

making joyful noise around the yard.

Laughter settling down, we harvested again. 

Filled recycling bins. Put our tools away.

He asked could He return when winter storms set in

and handed me His card. Cursive black on lamb’s wool white

advertised His mastery of gardens, miracles, snow.

I picked a stray leaf from His hair. Hugged Him

a grateful good-bye. Said I’d call to let Him know.

~ previously published in  Thin Places  (Kelsay Books, 2017) ~

From associate professor of English to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin is a lover of gardening and snorkeling, feral cats and backyard birds, writing and photography. Her poems have appeared in more than 175 journals throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. For more: www.carolynmartinpoet.com.