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POETRY
Sister Simones Song
Like a sparrow hidden in rhododendron her lilting
song takes you unawares.
Smelling of lavender, she bids
you join in the surprise of her fuchsia dance, to follow her
song behind the rainbow dragon kite among the dunes.
The sand
sifts through her nylon covered toes as she lets out the kites
string letting go, too, of meetings and delegations. Her hands wave to
the sky, meeting the challenge of the call in Gods
wild winds.
-- Janice K. Schuler Muskegon, Mich.
Theology in a nutshell
A theology of being, Brevity will do: God
is, You are, I am,
They, too.
-- Tom Brubeck Silver Spring, Md.
Your Cloistered Sisters Blanket
Your cloistered sister patterned a blanket for
you, And stitched while she prayed. You were a family of
God-lovers. The cloth was scarlet -- Broken intermittently With the
round faces Of blue and beige flowers. It lies on my bed now, A red
prayer quilt, Ablaze with the solemnity Of candles in darkened
halls, Voices lifted in compline -- Fevered memories. Its mouths are
sewn gracefully shut And I would like to rip them open Stitch by
stitch And hear what they would say about you, My never-met, As they
warm me now.
-- Annabelle Moseley Dix Hills, N.Y.
Confessions of a Western Pennsylvania
Winter
I dreamed I saw Saint Augustine in the pristine and
glistening new mountain snow. It was a decent and pure coating and he
was brimming with gratitude for the December gift after entirely too much
warmth and wetness. Many have said -- then and now -- We went
straight from summer to winter; We never had a Fall.
But there
he was, Saint Augustine on vacation, passing the afternoon behind
a cookie-cutter condo, romping in the soft and fine snow, alternating
high leg thrusts with a passionate running of his ungloved hand
through the supple and sinuous powder.
It was indeed a powdery
mountain snow. Coming from a tree, the wind whipped the white dust across
his noble bearded face, bringing nourishing hydration and unexpected
elation. One wonders how the resulting guilt and shame from this
ecstasy will compare in the confessional to that of a pilfered pear or
a coupling so raw so undebonair, that left him well spent but
incredibly flat.
Yes, Saint Augustine in the slippery and slick cold
and fresh mountain snow, must reign himself in before he completely and
unequivocally lets himself go.
-- Gary Ciocco Charleroi, Pa.
Saguaro in the Desert
You are almost the age of growing arms like the
saguaro cactus, embracing the world after six decades of just learning
to live with extreme heat and prickly neighbors. There is ordained
beauty being what you are. Then one day the Spirit whispers,
Now branch out.
-- Kathleen Gunton Orange, Calif.
Poems should be previously unpublished and limited to about 50
lines and preferably typed. Please send poems to NCR POETRY, 115 E.
Armour Blvd., Kansas City MO 64111-1203. Or via e-mail to
poetry@natcath.org or fax (816) 968-2280. Please include your street
address, city, state, zip and daytime telephone number. NCR offers a
small payment for poems we publish, so please include your Social Security
number.
National Catholic Reporter, March 14,
2003
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