I can’t remember when death
turned moments to memorial,
gifts unfolded to blessings.

The tan slippers of Christmas past
snuggled my mother’s lost toe
so the others never mourned.

Those mules never left her feet,
even on her final nap.
“Bless me Papa,” her last words.

I don’t know if they were lost
or she was buried with them.
I thought they were forever gone.

And then twenty three years on
I gifted my friend some pair
my new wife found on last sale.

She wore them, a sacrament
to  follow from home to ward
bequeathed from last breath

thru the fragile bruise of time,
the visions of Christ near her,  
repeating deliriums

of cold, cold, cold: hot, hot, hot
and I love you, I love yous
until lost in all the moves

from ICU to hospice,
unable to find others,
a new fleshy blanket I

draped around her cold/hot feet,
until it snuggled just so right,  
perfect as a thank you.

Five days after Thanksgiving
she passed away and I took
the cloth home to wash and wear

to find my wife had found it
and regifted what I could
not own to her sleeping soul.

Time may be elementary
moments lost in motion
Quiet periods provide
a power in between the lines
It's potency lies from within
Some gifts are given but not received
and hard to read for us to
see these silent signs

I went to Hell
for Christmas eve
only to return with
something nice
to gift you for
this special
day.

Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.

Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.

Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.

They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.

Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.

You gave me silken scarves and solitude
To weave my own bindings
You gave me surpluses of satin
Bandages for skin you broke
You gave me Swarovski accessories
As if it excused your absences
You gave me smooth apologies
A salve to my twisted fingers

use your brush
whether it be cracked or stained.
use it to paint a picture
that shows people why
they are made.

use it to write the words
that went unspoken.
use it to keep your mind
from swirling murky clouds
making you broken.  

paint me a picture
to explore what you do;
not for me to judge
but to admire what  
the Lord has poured into you.

~ share your gifts.