La nostra certezza l’amore di Dio
My eyes wander this small sanctuary
where you are crucified at least
three times. We kill you so often—
I find a bank of electric candles,
light one each day. I miss matches,
but I leave some flickering
contrition, my confessions, before
the statues of saints I don’t know,
to whom I don’t pray. The flawed
can comfort, but can they save?
A carillon rings heavy in the stone walls,
marble holds percussion interwoven
with Bohemian Rhapsody from a passing
car. A woman enters, drops coin after coin
in the offering box, I never see her face.
I relight a candle that stuttered off,
wonder if she left this prayer, if
it caught artificial flame, if it will
burn anyway. I can no longer tell
where burning starts or stops,
which loss is mine or hers.
Nadine Ellsworth-Moran lives in Georgia where she works in full-time ministry while pursuing her love of writing. She hopes to continue listening closely and writing about the shared experience of life in these times, with particular interest in the joys and struggles of coming to understand the history, identity, faith, and culture of the modern South. Her poems have appeared in Valiant Scribe, Structo, Theophron, Rust + Moth, Thimble, Sonic Boom, Emrys, Kakalak, and The Wild Word, among others. She shares her home with her husband and five unrepentant cats.
Amethyst Review 