The silence of the Holy Name
should catch us unaware;
should shift clear light
to the grayish bright
of eclipse.
The lips of God
should brush our ear
as the buzz
of an August noon;
the pen freeze
on the page
as a black ant dances
—-in glory—
on the corner.
And we should get up
(or stay);
pray
(or check our phone);
scream the mystery
into the heat
(or never say another word
again…).
An earlier version of this poem was originally published in Heart of Flesh Literary Journal.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, The Society of Classical Poets, America Magazine, U.S. Catholic, Amethyst Review, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is a certified Catechist in the Archdiocese of New York and editor of the Catholic Poetry Room.