Academic journal article Anglican Theological Review

Her Hands

Academic journal article Anglican Theological Review

Her Hands

Article excerpt

I call the gandy dancers' guild

To stage what I have seen today.

The rustiest boxcar must play the plowhorse.

The best spike driver, Our Lady.

Let her face be painted to middle age

For years have passed, she walks a stranger.

And let the boxcar wear no harness

Just like that night beside the manger.

But now, at pasture, stand attentive

As she along the roadside comes.

Commuter traffic passes by her.

She walks on, as this chorus hums.

In the distance, a single cloud

Unlatches like a train uncouples.

Let silent hooves begin to sound.

(From a bushel, drop several apples.)

This low thunder, multiply by three,

And bring the boxcar to a gallop.

Two hundred yards across the pasture. …

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