In his last days, he leaked light – a poem by Karen Luke Jackson

In his last days, he leaked light


	Barbara Brown Taylor 
in her eulogy for the Rt. Rev. Bennett J. Sims


I want it said of me, in my old age, that I leak light.
That with every wrinkle, I grow brighter; with every ache,
the dandelion becomes my guide. 

I’m not talking about leaks that arrive unwelcomed. A shower
that sputters, then settles into syncopated plops. Headlines
that risk national security. Heart valves that spill with each pump. 

Last year, a busted pipe undetected for hours flooded a friend’s home
before setting off alarms. Water can be like that.

But today I’m talking about light. How it flames from a hearth, glistens
from melting snow. How when there’s so much shine in a body
toward the end of life, it gilds everything in its flow.

Karen Luke Jackson, winner of the Rash Poetry Award and the Sidney Lanier Poetry Contest, draws upon family lore, contemplative practices, and nature for inspiration. Her poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, EcoTheo Review, Susurrus, Salvation South, and Friends Journal, among others. Karen has also authored three poetry collections: If You Choose To Come, paying homage to the healing beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains; The View Ever Changing, exploring the lifelong pull of homeplace and family ties; and GRIT, chronicling her sister’s adventures as an award-winning clown. Karen is a facilitator with the Center for Courage & Renewal. She lives in a cottage on a goat pasture in western North Carolina where she companions people on their spiritual journeys. karenlukejackson.com