Homily For USPS

Behind the blinds, waiting.
Listening for the clank, waiting.

Checks, junk, bills, or letter?
Birthday card from long-lost love? Waiting.

Glimpse of the truck up at the corner. 
Who’s driving — the regular, the substitute? Waiting…

from everywhere, that paper comes to me.
Paper that matters, that kills or kisses…waiting

for bulk mail or perhaps a package
I do not expect?  Or something else…waiting

to see what comes.  For the daily Visitor
who’s never welcomed inside the house.  Waiting

for She who walks among us and never enters
while leaving impact in Her wake, like wind…waiting

for my mind to return to the trivial from the ridiculous
here…it’s just mail.  Just stuff.  Waiting 

too intently makes you a fool.  Just go get it from the box
after it’s come…now.  And…nothing.  Waiting

to see how I feel — relief at no airborne disaster, 
disappointment at no airborne surprise?  Waiting’s

gone on long enough — step away from the analog
and the mystery wind, back to the screen where there’s no waiting

for a communication from random life.  It’s instant.
No muss, no fuss…no ritual.  No holiness in waiting.