Missionary

1. Cornfields

He labored in fields white to harvest
I had never seen.
I was both too young and also in Indiana.
The fields I saw were green
and grew six feet tall.
I called them corn.

2. Self-Sacrifice

He strove for hearts,
contended with devils and demons,
often spoke of thrones
and principalities of evil.
I brought him home
by offering my heart many times.
It was carved like stone.

3. African English

He taught men the words of Jesus.
I hear them speak
in an English quaint and unfamiliar.
Still, they comfort me,
not the words,
but the cadence and lilt
like the songs of birds.

4. Photo Album

I'm a child of five in the photo
looking out a pane
east toward the college ravine.
I’d been told that’s where Africa lay.

The camera looks in from outside.
I did not make known
it was Africa I was looking for:
where seeds are sown
and bountiful harvests brought in.

5. Black Men

Here in a sepia photo, my father stands.
He is wearing white shorts and pith helmet.
Behind are trees,
mud walls and thatched roofs of houses.

But who are these men, so black that their faces shine?
They are robed like kings.
What do they know
that khaki and whiteness is missing?

I’m afraid to ask.

6. Homecoming

I remember the smell of unpacking:
the mildew smell, the black fez embroidered with gold,
and the country cloths,

blue and white, white and black,
sewed in rows of soft heavy cotton.
Why did he decide to come back?

Being free of both marriage and children,
he had no constraints
except his commitment to God and those he loved.

I would never say he was proud.
No, he was humble.
So, was it love? It seemed to be some kind of driven.

All I know is at home he wasn’t happy,
was even less so
when elected bishop.

7. The Dream

I don't recall he ever said he loved me.
Those dark words came
one night, waking me from sleep.
I’m not sure who it was that spoke,
then I had a dream.

I sat a throne
and smelled lions crouched down about me.
They reeked of lust and of blood,
as if having come
from a kill.

I was on a hill,
but saw nothing since all about me was black.
What I heard were moans,
whether mine
I just couldn’t tell.

8. Last Thoughts

I guess that he feared my eyes
that in innocence accused
and unsexed him.
He didn’t seem to love women or men.

Like other devotees before him,
he was weary and afraid at the end:
he let God go
and reached out for his dear mother's hand.

She had never left him.