Poems by David Kherdian

In Calling Out

Somewhere inside me my father is circling
the fork of his spade digging the earth.

I hold his workman’s hankie
and wipe his brow without his seeing.

Behind, the lands he has crossed
with me inside

to a garden he makes with my life,
unknown by me, but possessed by

the seeds in his pocket about
to be spread for this new planting

that holds me to him, as seeds wait for
the earth to open for them.

Love

Love is everywhere
passing in between
and through everything
but invisible
its feeling hard to hold
and often unrecognizable
for what it is
and like time it doesn’t stand still
but moves unpossessed,
yet we can direct it from ourselves
to another
knowing it is not ours
but can pass through us
voluntarily, with intention
if we choose,
leaving us with its residue,
a fingerprint in time.

The Poem

Childhood comes around
again in a poem—
poem after poem it returns
like an unmarked box,
its treasure unknown
until opened
and no two boxes are the same
because each is a soul
a soul unseen until opened

Soul

Is the soul invisible, on its own,
journeying within me,
and how can I know its touch,
the spirit breathless at last—
knowing it is not alone,
but when asked to answer,
in the midst of smothered time
in the active space of days
that crumble one upon another,
broken veins    broken light,
this life of tender mercy
awaiting a voice saying
        who we are.

Ahead

If there is a blueprint
it is hidden from us,
and must be found
in the making,
our life a tool fit
to create a better design,
that we must inscribe
from out of the rag tag
mortal debris that is all around,
waiting to be configured by us,
from the dance unknown
to enter and take our hand
from behind.