Rain

My backpack bears heavy countries
   straining a load of sorrows on my shoulders
   carrying this Rwandan mountain road

   curving, twisting hard to safety
   for some survivors who flee
   holding nothing

I collect the senses of Musanze
   visions of a blind Blessing dancing
   and sighted children waving weeds like palm branches
   the scent of dust ground into the souls pounding feet
   throbbing in heart cadence

We walk on rocks like eggshells
Muzungus
Adding gifts of bananas and eggs to our storehouse of wealth
Gifts from a passerby who wants me to help him to study in the West

I've parceled more sorrows at the border
waiting for our visas at dusk
amid the angry stragglers threading through
Rains
Flooding and pouring memories
   Ugandan slums
   absent fathers
   orphan children
   mothers breaking rocks
   the imam's haunting call to prayer

Rain soaks my skin
Deep
Drops of pain stinging and slapping hard
I pull glimmers of hope and compassion
From the side pocket
Like used tissues
Soggy
Tattered
Wilted

Rivulets of red flow
Mudstained pools
Scars like Christ's bleeding

There are things about the incarnation I do not know
I unzip my faith and unwrap it
Vulnerable
What do I carry home?
What do I leave behind?
 
January 2016