Friday is for poetry. It just is. I’ve decided

Holy Innocent

In Spring this old magnolia puts forth
White hands held up in prayer, is
One hundred saints on one worn trunk,
And passers-by lift up their faces.

Oh birdie, I would have shown you it,
And you, just old enough to see,
Raising your own white hands, so tiny,
Astounded at the sudden brightness -

Your absence underneath my heart
Still haunting me in all things perfect,
Weightless as just one hand praying,
My clenched fist in the midst of glory.

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7 Responses to Friday is for poetry. It just is. I’ve decided

  1. Lilian says:

    Beautiful and moving.

  2. Sol says:

    Oh, Reed, that made me cry. Higher praise, and all that.


  3. Sometimes words just have to be written. There are tears in those verses. There are tears in the heart of the reader.

    Hey, I cannot promise to write as well as you, but can the archive join in on “Friday is for Poetry”?

  4. Teuchter says:

    I wish I had the words to tell you how that poem made me think – but I don’t have your eloquence.
    Bittersweet, perhaps?


  5. Robyn says:

    Wanted to comment on this last week when you posted it but found it nigh on impossible to drag the right words out of either of my hemispheres. Just 83 words that manage to hold one thousand volumes of meaning. Made me cry too.

  6. Aphra Behn says:

    And me, here, crying.

  7. Thank you for such a great poem.

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