Abide

Father, Son
Homemaker, family.
Roots and vines grow up
becoming a table
where everyone sits,
everyone who is here.

Here is a hard bench,
made by the Father
and the Son is the boards.
Those who eat here know
what this means.
"Abide,"
he said
"and we will make our home with you."
Make our home with you.
Out of you.
Now, our faces are suggested
in the knots and grains of wooden walls.
To eat at this table
is to make the same.
Father, Son,
come make your home with us.
Our homes are rotting, molding, rootless pits.
Hollow walls stuffed with
cash, with desire, with weeds.

We need you to abide,
to make your house real
We need your love
to make us the meal.