Dear Caleb,

Thank you for letting me publish your poem on my blog. I think it is stunning. I meant to comment, but no, I shall let it stand alone. Later, perhaps, I will write.

Offering
-For a minister in Loudon, TN

You imagine her looking out
from where you look now,
the chapel dark and soundless
but for the gnarly oak
pawing at the shingles.
You fear the last thought
to sizzle through her head
before that bullet was you.
A step from where she was raised
to new life, she fell last night,
our wounded Healer hanging behind.
The baptistry rippled.
Even the ears of angels rang.
You dip from the tranquil pool,
cradle each drop that is poured
out behind the pulpit,
the two elements mixing
like they might have wept
from the crucifix’s side.
At this altar you have honored
the body and the blood.
Where feet have been washed,
you bow now to scrub like Christ
what you can from this stain.
O my mother, my sister,
the blood is still cleansing,
the water still holy.

-Caleb Brooks

Copyright 2006--Caleb Brooks