Gran – a poem by Jeffrey Essmann

Gran

My gran was Irish, said her rosary
Before a lithograph above her bed
Of Jesus sweating at Gethsemane. 

The other mysteries then were overspread
By agony and its pervasive pall,
Their glory and their joy suffused with dread.

Yet maybe that’s not how she felt at all
And prayed the manger scene with joyful mien
Full seeing where the baby’s fate would fall. 

More likely yet she sensed each mystery’s sheen
Was color only, not the deeper tone
That pulsed beneath His human life unseen.

She too had knelt and sweated by the stone
And, even with the angel, all alone.

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, Amethyst Review, Pensive Journal, America Magazine, The Society of Classical Poets, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of The Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.