A Poem for Today

Reliquary

As I sweep into my hand
the small sacrifices
you left for me,

I think about the saints
And their reliquaries.
Bits of bone
and parings,
faded cloth
and dusty splinters,
locked away in glass cases
reflecting supplicants kneeling in prayer.

Walking outside
under the dark heavens,
I release from my palm
the fragments of you.
And the fingernail moon
rises in the East.

— Kathleen Gresham Everett c 2011

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