by Johanna Caton
I went down to the potter’s house, and the vessel he was making
came out wrong. So he began again (Jer.18:3-4).
honey cruse. jar of nectar. human crock. you’re cracked. the lot’s leaked and honey-seep is mixed with floor-grime. honey made from thyme flowers, industry and precious keep of bees trickles off the table-ledge, a sticky floor pool. my heel slides through your ooze, making slip-step time-step rhyme. it jars with the jar that lost its heart. Poor, sick earth. be still. . Pray, human crock. Pray hard. Say to the Potter: Remember Jeremiah. Say: We are your clay, your work. Is it too late? Plead. Say: Come, lift us up. Say: Look, Potter. Look like a father looks as he holds his sleeping child up to his cheek.
Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun of Minster Abbey in England. Originally from Virginia, she lived in the U.S. until adulthood, when her monastic vocation took her to Britain. Her poems have appeared in both online and print publications, including The Christian Century, The Windhover, A Time of Singing, Amethyst Review, The Ekphrastic Review and the Catholic Poetry Room webpage at integratedcatholiclife.org. Some of her poems can be found at www.integratedcatholiclife.org/?s=johanna+caton