by Sister Andrea Wild (Fr. Bob Wild’s twin sister).
yesterday an awesome sign
chained me to my chair,
arrested my attention,
left me lifeless, almost,
for minutes, hours, days,
who knows for sure, not I.
now I have seen Niagara Falls
cascading, spitting, spuming
and I have gasped atop the rim
of gorgeous Canyon Grand,
silently applauded torch-like suns
wafting into evening embers
bathed in salty ocean depths,
stood cowering next gigantic trees
traipsed the dismal desert floor,
clambered up to mountain peaks,
caverns of the earth
and all have spelled me bound,
of course, in diverse ways, unique,
left me baffled, puzzled, weaker
not an inch, though,
but neither half nor quarter
a sixteenth, maybe,
or fraction, yet of that,
no longer, fatter, wider than a
careless pencil mark, itself
requiring careful scrutiny for
and loaded with life, bouncing
brim-full with universal energies
with motion unabated.
where does it stock-pile anything,
this skimpy, non-inch, near non-entity:
food, water, air, breath, sight, sound,
past, future, cells, being,
offspring, well-spring, where?
this microcosmic masterpiece
this squiggly font of affluence,
harboring all the self-same secrets,
source and spring
If you enjoy our articles, we ask you to please consider subscribing to the print edition of Restoration; it's only $10 a year, and will help us stay in print. Thanks, and God bless you!