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

3 comments:

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.