A poem from summer 2008

Dust on My Feet

 I have the echoes of Ceara in my ears—

Songs of praise and hope lifted to God in her churches

Roosters crowing a responsive reading at dawn

A cacophony of busses, cars, motorbikes and burros

A morning melody of cow and goat bells

Students repeating words strange to their ears

 Loudspeakers reaching out for votes

Shared prayers from a circle of women.

I have the smells of Ceara in my nose –

Of the freshest-squeezed orange juice

Of salty air at the beach

Of diesel fumes from trucks and busses

Of starfruit blossoms promising ripe fruit

I savor new tastes of Ceara as well –

The passionate tang of maracuja

Sweet fruits at breakfast

Lemon birthday cake

The ever present rice and beans

The bread and cup of communion shared with new Christians

 A cup of sugarless tea with a sweet promise

I have visions of Ceara in my memory –

Of people filling the streets day and night

Of family laughing at their meal

The faces of students concentrating

The frailest elderly and beaming children

Cooperative movements for the survival of poor families

And for a better life from higher education.

I feel the touch of Ceara also –

The strong tropical sun and cooling winds

In crowded cars so all can go

In the embrace of generous hugs and snuggling children

In the jarring, jolting motion travelling rain-damaged roads

In the clasp of hands from new-found friends

In the gentle sway of a hammock’s cocoon

In the dripping waters of baptism.

I have the dust of Ceara on my feet –

From the federal university

Passing through the streets of Colonia and Itambe

From gardens in Ombreira

From the dirt floors of a most humble home

From playing ball with boys and girls

I don’t want the dust to wash away

for it reminds me of the love of Ceara that fills my heart –

Arising from shared faith

Nurtured by ideas and dream and worries shared

Tended by patience with poor Portuguese

Enriched by acceptance as a sister

Amazed by overflowing hospitality

Encircled by the love of a gracious, 
generous God who has given this gift.

The dust on my feet goes with me

But a piece of my heart stays behind.

Kitch Shatzer

revkitch@hotmail.com