7 Dec 2018 poem

Right Hand Of God

I went to the funeral.
I knew none of the bereaved.
I wondered if the deceased died from
an accident or an advanced illness.
I wondered if the bereaved’s religion,
which presented the ceremony,
was the deceased’s religion.
I wondered if this death
gave someone, somewhere
a sense of justice.
I wondered if this death
gave the family a sense of peace
after a long ordeal.

I looked at the cross behind the altar
and the image of the Christ.
A brownish-gray mouse stood
on the Christ’s right hand above the nail,
paws almost prayer-pressed,
and observed the proceedings,
until the organ began a traditional hymn.


copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney

 

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