Rev. Zach

I hear a woman's chatter, deep and low . Storms have uprooted cities While she and her cats grimaced With pearl and onyx. Bangles on her wrist chatter as she rises Whispering secrets of survival And communion to her friend, While I exist as a gnat on fruit Sucking life from their conversation. Still my joints ache from battles less sacred. Still the clouds and their gray dresses Appear as indicators of my distress. And the women warriors to my left, Having been drawn together by the same demon, Speak of tenacity and expectation As the path of salvation. More so it seems that in the sharing of their pain They have seen it's end; Not to say that pain is over, More so that it's purpose is made clear. I wrote this poem as a pleasant distraction while studying the lectionary at a coffee shop. One of the women who inspired it noticed my copy of Feasting On The Word, and asked about it. Her name is Karen. Turns out she is living on Social Security and taking a course on Medical ...