Barely a woman,
sown with the one seed
and first fruit of the
tree of life, bearing
death’s own destruction,
she strides Judah’s hills
to one thought barren
now late in season
ripe with leaping life
crying out wild joy.
Originally published in Pilgrim.
Stephen Pohl writes from Baltimore. His articles, essays, poetry, short stories and photographs have appeared in regional and national print publications, including the National Catholic Reporter and U.S. Catholic magazine, among other print and online venues.