POETRY

Untitled What is being born in the manger    of our hearts, What longs to emerge    into the light? A poor and precious bundle    naked, tender truth Soft as a child’s flesh, Sharp as the sword that pierces    every mother’s heart; -- Truth that cuts through    -- tenderly,       oh tenderly -- The vast and vile darkness    revealing to us who wait    the healing light       of dawn. -- Mary Anne Perrone    Ann Arbor, Mich.

The Apple The apple you brought in,    purple as a plum, sits alone in the blue blowl    in a sacred way as if it were an offering    to the too many religious books, scriptures,    and ancient prayers on my shelves. The money you left    on the table, your half you said, for last night’s meal    now seems an offering to the carved duck    and the glass fish, little saints of the river,    virgins and martyrs. Your absence is half-presence.    What I’ve been too shy to say comes easily now:    You calm me more than meditation can.    What peace monks yearn for, you have in you. I never knew it could be    this way: caring so much    about loving better that I laugh    at my precious books and reach for the apple to eat. -- Jim Littwin    Barrington, Ill.

Note to poets: Short lines preferred. Poetry is published in a newspaper column only 35 characters wide, counting punctuation and spaces. Submit poems to Poetry, NCR, PO Box 411009, Kansas City MO 64141-1009, or e-mail at poetry@ncronline.org.

National Catholic Reporter, December 28, 2007