Salt and Light
A Tennessee social worker unfurls a flag of healing and mercy.
SALT AND LIGHT AT THE LGBTQ+ NIGHT OF HEALING IN THE BIBLE BELT
SALT For Rev. Nicole Garcia
Preaching the message mighty
as sermon on the mount,
you save us from fear
of brimstone, sin,
the hypocrite
with the plank in his eye.
You, the peacemaker
at the pulpit poised
in your Lutheran collar
and glory, teach mercy
to the crowd
of allies, atheists
and bodies battered by Bibles,
state legislatures, wolves
claiming sheep clothing.
You, the Trans prophetess
gazing over the sea
of queer radiance,
pour out
salt and light,
exhaling
the breath of life,
you speak the good news
since the beginning of time:
If you want to see
the image of God,
look in the mirror.
MORE BEAUTIFUL
Look how the mourning dove bathes
in the bowl of water, her underbelly
cradled by gathered rain, her bird body
unashamed of its plumpness. See
the dogwood flaunting rose quartz blooms,
soon green leaves, then ruby. Fearlessly
undressed by December. Today the blue
irises shine. The lungs of the oak shake
the sky, receiving and giving to your heart.
The roots, in hiding under grass, sprawl
at home in the dark. Inhaling this morning
with you on the porch swing, I ask
with how does the acorn break like an egg, live
with a life more beautiful than it can imagine?
CEDAR ROCK AUTUMN
CEDARFor Mom
The woods chirp with chickadees at ease
in being and rustle with yellow birch leaves spinning
to the ground with the falling hum of wind.
The morning light slips between the canopy, piercing
the mountain laurel green with a milky glow, brushing
a single dewdrop on the outermost thread of a cobweb
with a crystalline gleam. You interrupt my moving
thoughts and body when you touch my shoulder,
pointing to a tiny sphere of enlightened water.
After the cruelty of days in concrete and anxieties,
you and I and the Cedar Rock Autumn play
the game that saves me from my angst:
I spy something beautiful.
You speak the words with singing eyes.
BOUNDLESS
BOUNFor Rich Panico
He tells you on a Tuesday morning at the bakery,
“To know healing, you must know suffering,”
as he sinks the bag of Rooibos into the mug
of scalding water and you bite into your sticky bun.
A few years later, he teaches you the four sublime
attitudes, loving-kindness, compassion, wonder,
equanimity as you drink green tea in his studio
where he shapes the clay into birds. How do you
thank this old friend, his Buddha mind shining, as
you walk side-by-side past the strawberry patch
and the vegetable garden, onto the path of your life
where suffering breaks you into soil and seed?
You laugh as the field of wildflowers unfurls.
About the author
Claire Coenen, LMSW, M.Ed. M.T.S., is a writer, teacher, and social worker living in Nashville, TN. Her work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in several publications, including Soul-Lit, Cathexis Northwest Press, Light of Consciousness Magazine, and The Banyan Review. Claire is a SoulCollage® Facilitator and yoga teacher. She offers local and online writing workshops focused on playfulness and self-compassion.