El Sagrado Corazon

This entry is part 8 of 93 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2011

“Before they call, I will answer.” ~ Isaiah 65: 24

Close to midnight, and it’s raining again.
This hushed: no noisy exchange of crows,
no yellow-billed bickering of cuckoos.

All day I merely counted out, did inventory:
cups of strong coffee, clink of silverware; bread
and butter, pink and white circles of radish

on the dinner plates. Now the rain’s
a flickering curtain, blue-green outside
window glass. On my desk, an old prayer card

where a heart crimson as a globe of fruit
is ringed by thorns, gold-leafed in flame.
Imagine if I took it in my hands,

laid it on the sill or hung it from a branch.
Imagine a ripe fig washed clean by rain,
glistening for the hand that chooses it.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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1 Comment


  1. Oh, this one speaks to me. My faith has those kitschy gaudy images too, impossibly overwrought and yet so unpretending that they move you to reverence — as if they were not works of human artifice at all, but just primal reflexes of devotion. You respond to them as if they were natural phenomena.

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