tools of the trade

we picture you
      striding out
   of the tomb, pristine
         robes swaddling
         your brand new body,
      a gleaming, chrome
      toolbox in your hands,
            full of shiny
            new tools for
         the work ahead of
                 you

but you come,
wearing your faded
                 and patched
      bibs,
   your calloused and nicked
             hands clutching
         the toolbox handed down
                to you,
      covered with stickers from
      all the places you visited:
         Sidon and Tyre,
            Galilee,
         Skull Hill,
            hell
and filled with the tools
               you choose to use:

   disciples bent over from
      the guilt of denial,   
      grief which can't be spoken,
      pain which never seems to
                    end;

   friends who have grown rusty
      because no one sees their gifts
                    (or them);

   older folks
         who've been 'honorably
                          retired'
            though time is the
               gift they can offer
     (along with all that wisdom
       that is expected to be placed
       on top of the dresser
          collecting dust);

   children who are told to
                      wait
          until that mythical
                    'future'
      they are to inhabit(and
      please don't bother the
      grown-ups till that day);

and you set to work,
   building your kingdom
            with these
old,
   bent,
       rusty
tools.

(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman