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Nancy McDonald
A strange
place to make a new beginning
here
on a dusty road
not leading
much of anywhere
in a time when the ritual seasons
have already turned
and at dusk
almost dark, in fact
what an unsuitable place and time
to begin.
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And the two of us
plodding along
dull-headed
wet-witted
after three days of regretting
and recounting losses. |
Our bodies
hobbled and our souls brokered
we moved like confused moths
near an extinguished wick.
The fire was gone.
And now we mourned.
Was it sorrow
for ourselves or him that we most
valued?
The answer?
we may never know
nor does it matter now.
We were teachers who planned too closely;
parents who engineered the form.
We left no room to enjoy the exploration
and the moment of the child.
Now in this twilight of being
we were voiceless.
Our metaphors and tropes
failed us in this sullen grief.
No hope, but God
and to hope in Him
seemed hopeless
missed the opportunity provided.
Why would God knock twice?
Then, at this point
a stranger
joined us.
Did he make a third
or were we still just two?
We were not sure ourselves
but know for certain
when bread was broken
time was fractured, too.
And when we rose and left the table
we were different;
ourselves yet more than selves
rose up to leave.
Bones of fire now support us
so full of love that
it hurts our lungs to breathe.
These the bodies
which the third one left us,
we dare not guess the features
of our souls.
This road to nowhere goes
on forever
out from Emmaus into a waiting world.
Who is this that we carry now
in witness?
What names does He bear
that we can call Him in the night?
It is a secret.
But this we share with you
O children.
When you see Him
you will recognize the face.
Submitted by Br. Michael Colasuonno |
