Holy Saturday

by Patrice M. Wilson

You could say I was dead,
all the memories of the sun 
glinting like hope through 
branches of trees and the beauty
of the desert moon
hanging on invisible strings 
like my spirit hovering above me
somewhere in the sky.

I don’t know what touched me—
some wisp of breath 
from the songs of children
or the March wind urging
its way through the room
making it breathe and sing too.

Or perhaps the foglike
rain in the valley, hiding
the mountains like a veil
that covers a beautiful woman’s
face whose eyes shine out
and in moving left to right
conjure new life
to touch future dawns
into whatever there is of mind
in this universe, of heartbeat,
of shiver stirring in the body,

of a glimpse of warmth
that makes for the inherent comfort
of life, no matter how faint or far off,
no matter the inevitable ache of death,
no matter if that glimpse happens
the next morning or not.

But some morning. Any morning.

Previously published in her print book, Hues of Darkness, Hues of Light, which is available at eLectio Press and Amazon.com online.

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.

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