by Jeffrey Essmann
Despite the manna and the quail and all that they entailed of God and miracle to meet the Hebrews’ churlier demands; despite a general attitude of post-Egyptian gratitude, there must have been some mornings when, emerging from one’s tent. the desert evening spent, it looked like just another day of sand. So I in these my desert days, as bountifully grazed by God and miracle as those who once adored the golden calf, sometimes just lack the aptitude to quite embrace beatitude, and have those mornings dull of soul when squinting as I might, I lack all inner light and can’t make out the manna for the chaff.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.