Dean Okamura

I struggle with simple things

 

I struggle with simple things 

like chewing food 

& mid-sentence 

I am interrupted 

by a sudden pain 

as my teeth & inner cheeks 

break the 70-year truce, again. 

My teeth sliced off a chunk 

of my epithelium 

& it hangs in space. 

Heaven blazes upon me — 

they re-assigned 

my guardian angel. 

My previous protector 

looks after a prominent 

pastor’s daughter. 

He prayed for angels 

to protect her 

from all the world’s 

worst temptations 

& liberal philosophies 

accosting his rebellious 

teenage children. 

Given my recent string 

of unexpected maladies, 

my new guardian angel 

lacks diligence. 

Heaven blazes upon me — 

they assigned 

my guardian angel 

to part-time protection. 

What? Since when 

did guardian angels change 

to keeping watch sometimes? 

I ask around & people describe 

similar experiences. 

They wonder if God cares. 

Others say do not complain. 

God’s ways are not my ways 

(plus catchy phrases to declare: 

It’s my problem). 

Some say I have dental issues, 

oral hygiene deficiencies, 

or even bad genetics. 

These factors are 

not under my direct control 

(but those people with 

catchy phrases declare: 

It’s my fault). 

Heaven blazes upon me —  

they pointed out 

guardian angels 

do not give advice 

or assist my body. 

They provide protection. 

What? Okay, it makes sense. 

Guardian angels never 

tapped my shoulder 

before I mutilated my cheek. 

Forgive this man 

who struggles with 

trivial things, Lord. 

Heaven blazes upon me —  

they pointed to 

a Bengali poet reciting: 

Clouds come floating 

into my life from other days 

no longer to shed rain 

or usher storm but 

to give colour 

to my sunset sky.  

Sunset? Okay, I am 

far past the noon 

of my day on earth. 

Rid me of my simple 

closed-mindedness. 

We live with clouds, 

winds blowing chaos, 

storms gaining control, 

forces of nature, 

agents of Heaven, 

legions of Hell-hounds. 

Yet these overwhelming trials 

are storms and seasons 

which will come to an end. 

They yield, pass into history, 

transformed, shifting, 

assuming new shapes. 

Loose these specters from their 

harmful roles, and see them drift 

into other broad sunset realms. 

Silhouettes across earth's sky, 

covered with creamy velvet, 

marking the pathway to Heaven.