by Patrice M. Wilson

Sharp chaos of light,
Satan interrupting the garden—
so many peonies, begonias
sweet cherries, apples—and only one
forbidden: light pollution,
the wrong kind of light—
too bright, blazing,
zigzagging like lightning
through the brain,
the tortures left by sin,
by death.
 
Come unto Me, says a voice
in the night, far away from
lights burning overtime.
Come and rest,
It is I. And you hear
and you follow, like Abraham,
not knowing where or how,
knowing only the certainty
of His word.

Born Catholic in Newark NJ, raised in Catholic schools, Patrice M. Wilson has a PhD in English from the University of Hawaii at Manoa, having earned her MA there and her BA at the University of Maryland, College Park. She was editor of the very fine Hawaii Pacific Review for 16 years while teaching at Hawaii Pacific University. She has three chapbooks of poetry with Finishing Line Press, and one full-length poetry collection with Christian publisher eLectio Publishing. Dr. Wilson recently spent five years in the cloistered Carmelite monastery in Kaneohe, HI. She is now a retired professor living in Mililani, Oahu, HI.