by Jenna K. Funkhouser
An east wind,
she might have thought
as she splayed
the wooden beams
and divided their
garments
Brushed aside
the hammer and nails
one more time
to lay down that quilt
of many colors.
Then: the tenderness
of a father’s stance,
poised in readiness behind
a tottering boy –
an eagerness
in her body kneels,
welcomes
this young skin-weaver and his
weak steps, brazen
arms flung in eager trust
her eyes
ever on his blossoming,
sun calling him outward
into Light.
In time, he will eclipse
her own becoming; in time,
she will watch his winds blow
where they will, sourcing from
that unseen fire.
But here, this moment
frozen and burning
with a pure and holy joy:
for one long and wild breath,
it is only
this current of delight,
this miracle of a gift
given over again
each so eager to be given,
so eager to adore;
this silent, ordinary trinity.
Jenna K. Funkhouser is an author and nonprofit communicator living in Portland, Oregon. Some of her greatest heroes are Celtic mystics and Dostyevsky lovers. Her first book of poetry, Pilgrims I Have Been, was published in October 2020.
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