Mea Culpa


 



Mea Culpa 

 

How gratitude?  Is it even possible

Without our believing

Some part of us isn’t worthy & this

Bridge someone named humility

 

Is beneath our feet the moment

We lean ahead?  Like that

Scene in Indiana

Jones & the Last Crusade,

 

When he trusts it it’s there and rubs

Dust on it, and it’s solid but without

Rails so each step is true, is

Genius in his seeing blind mind?

 

What’s beneath us? Broad

Jaws with their lolling tongues always

Slick somehow and acrid, lazy?

The way they take the breaking

 

Change in hesitation, a mockery of

Compassion?  The plumb line

Crumbling with its chalk that falls near

Invisible?…The throbbing thumb that

 

Couldn’t get out of the way of our

Maul? Sucked & rubbed against the 

Mark, that blue dust the briefest

Seeing in the thin penumbra of grace?

 

Or maybe mercy?


the friar
Friar's Head, Campobello, NB


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