04-30-2024, 03:34 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-30-2024, 10:38 PM by RiverNotch.)
St. John of Shanghai
He thought me clever for coming to him first
but even saints can be disappointed:
I was not descended from those doves
that whispered into St. Basil's ear
whenever he presided over a service.
Instead, he had to play the teacher again
and I, the dutiful student, learned to perch
quietly on the corner of every seat
or feed from his hand without pricking his skin
or even circle overhead
during the feast of the Theophany
to astonish the crowd, to impress upon them
how palpable the Mystery was.
The children would say, perhaps impiously,
that because of the water he sprinkled on me
I was a baptized bird.
The adults would observe, upon his repose,
my frantic fluttering of the wings
which he had repaired, on our first meeting,
as if I were in mourning,
but I tell you: I was too clever,
too much his good student, to feel such pain.
I knew where he had truly gone.
I knew only joy when my own heart stopped.
He thought me clever for coming to him first
but even saints can be disappointed:
I was not descended from those doves
that whispered into St. Basil's ear
whenever he presided over a service.
Instead, he had to play the teacher again
and I, the dutiful student, learned to perch
quietly on the corner of every seat
or feed from his hand without pricking his skin
or even circle overhead
during the feast of the Theophany
to astonish the crowd, to impress upon them
how palpable the Mystery was.
The children would say, perhaps impiously,
that because of the water he sprinkled on me
I was a baptized bird.
The adults would observe, upon his repose,
my frantic fluttering of the wings
which he had repaired, on our first meeting,
as if I were in mourning,
but I tell you: I was too clever,
too much his good student, to feel such pain.
I knew where he had truly gone.
I knew only joy when my own heart stopped.