Maybe I should not have brought you here.
Paul said to Lori—
the mountain top beneath their feet
the tree line half a mile back.
The air is so thin I see saints through the veil.
Lori said to Paul—
her hand clutched a wisp of cloud
her other hand on a rock to steady herself.
Do you see the miracle workers or the martyrs?
Paul asked Lori—
his eyes searched the present sky
his ears listened for wing flaps.
The everyday saints like single moms.
Lori replied to Paul—
spying women like her mother
who survived husbands lost in wars.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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