IN ISOLATION: AN INVOCATION TO THE OTHER ANTONY

IN ISOLATION: AN INVOCATION TO THE OTHER ANTONY

 

I am beginning to understand.

Alone among the tombs,

in the cave, in the fort, 

you had nowhere to hide.

Did every pebble in your path

become a boulder? Every

bitter herb a reproach?

Deprivation is the door

to the demons within.

 

We see our grandchildren

only on a screen. I have not

had coffee with my friends

for four weeks. I cannot go

to the studio to make things

no one needs. My husband

left the cellar light on. Again.

I want to read and the dog

wants to go out. I want

to go to bed and the cats

want to play.  We have 

run out of bananas.

Oh woe!  Oh woe!

 

Antony, remind me

that little devils are the hardest 

to catch. Teach me 

that this path is not untraveled.

Show me that even my darkest heart

is loved and forgiven.

Antony, pray for me.

NOT ON ROCK: a poem for the Feast of the Confession of St. Peter

NOT ON ROCK

On this sand I build my church,

grit of barrier and beach,

shift and shape, tumbling jag

tossed in my whimsical wind.

 

On this clay, sticky with itself,

plow-breaker, seed-wrecker,

slip and slick, firing hard

to slice and slab and cup.

 

 

Out of flesh I build it,

bones, heart, blood, decay.

Out of bread I build it,

risen, broken, given away.