Sunday, September 11, 2011

Balm in Gilead

“Is there no balm in Gilead?” So cries
dour Jeremiah in granite tones.
“There is a balm in Gilead,” replies
a Negro Spiritual.  The baritone

who chants it, leaning forward on the platform,
looks up, not knowing his voice is a rainstorm
that rinses air to reveal earth's surprises.
Today, the summer gone, four monarch butterflies,

their breed's survivor's, sucked a flower's last blooms,
opened their wings, orange-and-black stained glass,
and printed on the sky in zigzag lines,
watch bright things rise:  winter moons, the white undersides
of a California condor, once thought doomed,
now flapping wide like the first bird from ashes.
—Grace Schulman
from The Paintings of Our Lives:  Poems by Grace Schulman

Seasonal Sundays at The Tablescaper

Seasonal Sunday Teapot copy


Jacqueline said...

Beautiful! How important balm is in hard times and it can come in so many ways.

Thanks for your adorable comment. I actually had to argue with my mom that you COULD tell the difference between margarine and butter and I agree, I have been vindicated to - butter is best!!!

A Perfect Setting said...

Wish I had one of those muffins right now!! They look delicious! Thanks for visiting with me and your kind comments, I will be back to re-visit some of your older posts, your blog is like reading a favorite magazine!!

The Quintessential Magpie said...

What a powerful poem! I've not heard of this author, but I enjoyed the imagery in this so much.