Academic journal article Anglican Theological Review

Canonical Hours

Academic journal article Anglican Theological Review

Canonical Hours

Article excerpt

Beyond the windows of her nursing home

the clouds process still, the world is green again,

that much she can make out at ninety-two.

But varieties of trees, the maple and the birch,

the oak, to her eyes they are one shade, darkening,

even though she knew their names and changing hues

since she was a girl until this year.

Now the confines of her room define a garden

to her tending fingers and the tiny potted fir

her son and daughter brought on Christmas Eve

still quivers with globes of emerald, ruby, gold

such as become this season out of time.

Let the nurses call us both Mary the Mother,

she whispers to her parrot, let them think I'm nuts,

weird, psycho, let them say we're off

the charts we're so loco, we know who we are.

She tries to stand; the pain along her hips

twists down her calves, the well-turned legs

she is still proud of. Today will be busy. …

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