sorrow – Kate Bluett

To those who stand on corners
or walk the highways out,
to those who sleep in doorways,
reach out your mantle now
and drape it as a shelter
across the unkind earth,
a tent of finest velvet
for those who sleep on dirt.

Reach out to them, O Mary
apparelled in the sun,
the hounded and the harried,
and hide them from the guns.
See those in need of rescue
and spread for them your cloak
to be a sky-blue refuge
that screens them from the foe.

O Mother, now behold them,
the weary and the poor,
and in your arms enfold them
where once you held the Lord,
to shield them from the Herods—
O, bear them safe away
beyond the reach of terror
to live another day.

O Son of Heaven, only lord of life,
I offer you the dying and the dead:
the man who turns from burying his wife
to hear his doctor say the cancer's spread,
the children falling silently to earth
in cracks and crevices of toppled stone,
the mother who will not survive the birth,
the young man once more eating all alone.
Take them, O Lord, in venerable hands—
the labor of our hands, the bent world's fruit—
take all the grief and death, O Sorrow's Man:
“This is my body given up for you.”
For we all bow our heads and feast on dust;
we all will drink the cup of bitter tears.
O, take this dented chalice and these crusts
and crawl into each crumb, each drop of fear,
each block of rubble burying the lost,
each cancer cell, each blade that rends the flesh,
each prison wall, each bullet, every cross,
and all the myriad doorways into death:
Imbue them with yourself, O God who bleeds;
take as your skin the many silent roads,
drawn out so every line to your heart leads,
and drown death in your pulse's ebb and flow.
Then we will eat your flesh and drink your blood
in that one meal where all of us take part
until the tide has turned in mercy's flood
and we live on forever in your heart.

Category: sorrow

Mantle

The Dying and the Dead