Being Verbs

Being Verbs
by Barbara Lyghtel Rohrer

A friend creates shadow boxes
I clean
      I sew
          I read
               I nap
enhanced with little objects:
Clorox label, small sponge,
a bit of lace, buttons, a page
from a novel, a sleeping face.

There’s also a longer box,
filled with maps of Europe,
a tiny compass, ticket stubs.
Three typewritten tags span
the bottom frame:
I got lost
         I am lost
                 I will get lost.

I think of these boxes
when I read Arthur Klepchukov:
I am not a writer; I write.

I think of these boxes
when I read Buckminster Fuller’s
declaration: I seem to be a verb.

I think of these boxes
in church, while trying to describe
my sense of that divine mystery
many call God.
A sacred presence—not noun but verb.
Not creator but create.
Not lover but love.

If we are made in the image
of this sacred reality, as we surely are,
we follow likewise:
we write
       we kiss
             we hold
                   we let go.

And here I am, writing these words.
Not inanimate objects. Not soulless.
They live
        They have lived
                      They will live.

Originally published in Soul Poetry, Prose & Arts Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 2, Spring 2025, 105.
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