— The Dreams We Carry in the Dark

Two sad faces at morning
behind the same prison wall,
one who poured the king’s wine,
one who baked the king’s bread.

Palace and prison,
two worlds,
and sorrow had led them both
to one floor.

*

“Why are your faces sad today?”

Before power,
before freedom,
this was his first gift:
to see another’s sorrow.

“Do not interpretations
belong to God?
Tell me.”

*

A vine with three branches,
budding, blossoming,
grapes pressed into Pharaoh’s cup.

Three days, Joseph said,
and the cup will be in your hand again.

Then, softly, his own prayer
hidden inside the answer:
Remember me.
Do not let me disappear.

*

Three baskets on the baker’s head.
Birds eating from the top one.

Three days.
A different ending.

Joseph stood between two dreams
and told the truth
as gently as truth allows.

*

Pharaoh’s birthday.
One lifted to the table.
One lifted to the tree.

And the cupbearer
walked back into the palace
and forgot him.

*

How easily we forget
the ones who carried us
through our darkest hour.

I have been that cupbearer.
Lord, forgive the names
I left behind the walls.

*

He read the wine of another’s dream
while his own cup stood empty.
He carried hope for others
while his own hope waited.

The Lord say
the wine of the Friend
is poured first into a cup
that has learned to be empty.

*

The cupbearer forgot.
God did not.

Past the walls Joseph could not see through,
the vine was already
budding.