June 17th

“When shall I come and behold
   the face of God?” Psalm 42:2b

in evenings of lengthening shadows
and days of hope singing
so low we can barely hear it,
when silence parches our souls
and prayers hang loose as if
we have had a sudden loss of faith,
perhaps
in the smile creasing
the immigrant’s face or
that breath which signals
the first drops of rain,
you shimmer,
not in stunning sunsets
but in a sandwich offered by the weary,
in grace as soft as slippers,
in the creases on a nana’s face.
and as i sit and ponder
when i will get a glimpse of you,
you are on the worn pavement
crying out for justice,
in the tears shared at gravesides,
in that knot of kids selling lemonade
and
i realize i have simply
forgotten how to see.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: Thom-Shuman