About Blessings and Fish My son, the Blessing, squirmed like a fish in my arms. My mother said, You are my blessing. Now sit on my knee, she teased. I perched, and my squirmy Blessing blessed John with his little fin, swimming, tummy-down, as John gazed at him. We all grew still. Then I saw: blessings, can often be squirmy things. I said so to her, part play. But I pondered their ways and turns: blessings have their own intent– divine design squirms against our restraining embrace. My mother blessed me then, eyes deep as a spectre’s abyss, she pointed upward, her hand so like a sceptre
Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun. She was born in the United States and lived there until adulthood, when her monastic vocation took her to England, where she now resides. Her poems have appeared in The Christian Century, The Windhover, The Ekphrastic Review, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Catholic Poetry Room, and other venues, both online and print.