Читать книгу Mercy Wears a Red Dress - David Craig - Страница 5

that was something, though it was hard to hear

all the voices. Today I’ll go to Confession,

can’t say which of my lambs will follow.

“Onward Christian Soldiers” we are not,

except for Mrs. Polite, as mom calls herself

in one of Jude’s programs.

And in truth, she has grown, by leaps

and bounds, while the rest of us,

I’m afraid, are more hopper types—

about the back yard, in the basement,

all over the furniture; hopping

and nibbling, nibbling.

We are still everything we aren’t.

There’s no brightening it:

the flag we will wave when Jesus comes back

will be a beat one. We’ll probably

have to tie one of the ends in a knot

to the staff; though our waving, we hope,

won’t be abashed, or too much

of an embarrassment for our neighbors.

Still, today is a new day, and there is

the Confession thing. Life does get better,

like that horrible PRINCE OF EGYPT song:

“If you believe”—though I don’t think

creatively seeing makes anything happen.

Like the rest of our lives, that’s too shallow,

shoddy to do much good.

This is the Valley of the Lord, east end.

The part near the river, behind the tracks.

We can clean up, comb our hair,

but there’s no hiding who we are.

We are the blessed.