Wilderness-21

Andrew Welchman

There is a space between the bedroom and the spare room where the wilderness begins. 
It is not a wasteland, desert, or a tundra, 
but a dry place of screens and routine.

 
The onset of the camel carpet signifies mediated meetings 
through electronic-everythings 
with legless colleagues and acquaintances,
whose powerpointed thinking 
reminds us that the devil lives in detail.

 
The echoes of camaraderie have become passing saccharine,
a smile instantly wiped as the camera stops.
And as the day wears on,
this wilderness bears witness to the prodromal twitches
that a nice glass of white will make it all right.

Last year’s muted Paschal triumph became a comma,
the demarcation of Lent lessened by ongoing similarity.
And the purple, red, gold and green beats of liturgy cycled on an electronic whirr.

 
But now we pause again to start at alpha,
and must weave home comforts into spiritual refreshment.

 
The wilderness is reborn through repentance and baptism,
striking dry rocks lets forth the mellifluous Word,
and the beating wings of prayer create the heavenward throng.

 
The path we walk is guided,
with a miracle far greater as our prize.
Let us gird our loins, shoe our feet, with our staffs at hand.