Rush Hour Prophet
Benediction beneath
the bridge
Olive branch in his hand
or perhaps
a victorious palm?
He blesses
the hurried,
steel masses
moving into the city
He wears no crown
and his throne is
suitably thorny
Gray beard and
dark skin
weathered by days
and nights
in the free city air,
and under
god’s skies
On occasion joined
by a shadowy
apostle, standing
shoulder
to shoulder
Reminding me
to live
beyond my
rush-hour
frustration,
and
the daily news
The stoplight
catches me
brings me
eye to eye
with the silent prophet
I extend my
hand in offering
ask him
his name
“Moses,
my name
is Moses”
J. Culain Fripp is an Asheville, NC native who now lives in Geneva, Switzerland. Over 25 years dedicated to working, observing and reflecting on life in conflict and crisis-affected environments, internal and external, he has returned time and again to poetry as a journalistic practice. Most recently, his work has appeared in Rue Scribe. Instagram @Kalevala04
