A Prayer for More

by Nathaniel J. Brown

It must have been some hours on the road.

You taught, you hid, they didn’t know your face, 

your gait, your voice–all foreign, all delight. 

Perhaps a gesture, quiet, slow, well worn,

revealed you as the one they thought they’d lost.

Your hands, the rough and calloused ones that worked

great wonders feeding thousands, healing blind

and palsied poor. Through hands you let them see

your kingdom, crafted from your earthly death.

Before you lit their hearts, their faith was young.

It wasn’t like the faith we learn today.

You burned away their fog, their narrow view. 

And when they needed more than what they had,

you opened, you bestowed. I think I need more, too.

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Nathaniel J Brown lives and practices medicine in New Mexico. He is most at peace hiking in mountains and deserts. Besides poetry, his interests include singing, struggling with the piano, mountaineering, and all things fermented. Recently his work has appeared in Rust and Moth, Fare Forward, Amethyst Review, and Anesthesiology, among others.