In church we sang of advent peace from fear
of “come thou long expected Jesus” lore
but as the liturgy unfolded, near,
some fifty years since bombing hit Pearl’s shore
and fifty years since my own advent north
a winter grumbling knotted in my gut--
the grant not won, the bills not paid
the homeless, sick, the editor who put
in words without my knowledge or my aid.
In knots, these angers blocked the famous ghost
but slowly during the passing of the host
the ears began to hear, the eyes to see
my alto blended once again in harmony
the peace began to pass. I could go forth.
© Jane Piirto. All Rights Reserved.