to the Edmondite shrine, I stretch my back
stiff from the road and poor sleep
as my kids shout, bolting for the beach
to cast stones that glance, then split
the surface as if cutting skin.
We stumble into open-air pews
and their blinding eastern light;
the priest and the songbirds deliver
their sermons while among the sail boats
walks Jesus, and so could we—if we trusted.
But it had been a starless night of storms
for the disciples on the trawler,
taking turns at the watch as their master
from the mountaintop weighed his passion.
Peter swings a sandal over the nodding bow.
How far does he get? Does he step like a curb
misjudged, thinking of something else?
When he starts to drown, ice flooding his heart,
it must have felt like waking from a dream.
This poem also appears in the June 2022 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 87, No. 6, page 18). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.
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