Photo by Maria Teneva
PASTORAL
A Sister of Mercy came to visit when I was sick,
but I didn't let her in. She wondered
when I had last attended church
and assured me that lost sheep
were always welcomed
back into the fold.
Not that she was saying I was lost, or anything
like that, she was quick to add, and I lied,
telling her that I had someone waiting
on the phone. I said, thanks
for stopping by, and then shut the door
in her face. The way I felt,
anyone who came would have received
the same treatment. I refused to be
drawn into conversation if it meant
accepting sympathy I didn't deserve.
Yet when I remember
the single, stubborn lock
of gray hair that made its bid for freedom,
escaping from beneath the nun's
penitential habit, I feel a sudden tenderness.
I bless all tendrils which defy
closely-guarded boundaries.
The life that rushes
through everything that grows, as unshorn
as desire, sanctifies each fugitive strand,
leading the world to liberation
through surrender, embracing its
mysterious beloved
wherever the wind blows.
The Author
Michael David Jewell believes that art and poetry both can speak to something tender and hidden, from one person to another, reminding us that we are not completely alone in this world. He acknowledges that the daily news may be grim beyond the point of desperation, yet each breath is an opportunity to heal the wounds we carry with us against our wills. He lives within site of a small range of mountains in Vermont. He sees them everyday through his window, and he believes that they also deliver this same message, but more eloquently, due to the absence of words or any sort of contrivance.
