The Conversions – a poem by Kathryn Simmonds

The Conversions 

Did the sun spin 
like a burnished penny? 
Was there a voice? 
Some testify, most don’t, 
and so the mystery remains, 
they have heard with the ear 
of their heart, seen 
with the eye of their mind, 
for God is always figurative, 
hidden in a burning bush, 
a fig tree fattening to life. 

Whatever slide or shift, 
immense or slight, 
it’s all the same and soon 
they’re shedding their own selves
like artichoke leaves 
scattered thick and plasticy 
until they’re back to naked bud. 

Their spouses look away. 
Their mothers frown. 
Who wants to hear? 
At least for comfort they’ve 
each other – St Helena, splintered
by the cross, or Saul, pawing 
at black space, 
Francis making a woodland
of his body. 

So it goes on. Quietly 
as linen is unfolded
they unfold. Even now 
someone is seated on a chair
five thousand miles from here, 
two streets away, 
staring as a strange flower 
opens in the dark.

Kathryn Simmonds’ third collection of poems, Scenes from Life on Earth, was published by Salt in 2022. Her poems have appeared in various publications including Poetry, the Guardian, the New Statesman, Poetry Review and The Irish Times, and, along with her short stories, have been broadcast on BBC radio. She lives in Norwich with her family and tutors for The Poetry School and other organisations.