by Wesley Sims

I take a Bible from my shelf, on impulse 
choosing Mother’s King James version, 
a souvenir of inheritance. Hold it in my palm 
for a moment, the way Grandpa Rev. Silas might 
have lifted it up, finger its faded gold trimmed edges 
and open to a marker, one of many scrapbook
pieces—letters, poems, clippings, tidbits of wisdom
—like road signs or footprints on her journey. 

I work my way forward, follow a trail 
of phrases and scriptures she has marked.
My eyes trace threads of underlined verses—
like He who has ears to hear, let him hear…
I read and ponder this path of word prints,
mouth the syllables in my mind, feel my lips 
purse to form the same words she read
and might have spoken as she meditated.

I remember her again, by window’s light, 
brown hair dappled with threads of gray,
clasping her pen as she touches the pages 
like delicate rose petals, drawing her lines.
I picture her grandfather, the reverend, 
leaning on the pulpit, frayed Bible strewn 
with markers, peering through wire-rimmed 
glasses, thumbing the sacred pages, placing 
his calloused finger on a text, tracing fond
passages as he speaks and shares the words—
the path, the light, mankind’s hope for centuries.

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Wesley Sims has published three chapbooks of poetry: When Night Comes, 2013; Taste of Change, 2019; and A Pocketful of Little Poems, 2020. He has had poems nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. His work has appeared in Artemis Journal, Connecticut Review, G.W. Review, Liquid Imagination, Plum Tree Tavern, Quill and Parchment, Poem, Poetry Quarterly, Time of Singing, Bewildering Stories, and numerous others.