I’m kneeling on
All Souls’
day in a quiet chapel,
soaking in the
silence. I’m counting on
my rosary:
pipe bombs in the mail,
grandparents shot in a grocery,
Kaddish recited over
and over in Pittsburgh.
Some clasped hands
are called
dangerous
un-American
violent
while others
(white normative
hands –
my hands –)
are prayerful
peaceful. I know
in my bones
the Divine is more
expansive than our
human calculations of
hands. I’m kneeling on a holy
day in quiet
remembrance:
prayer without
fear
is a privilege.
Grocery shopping
without
fear
is a privilege. I’m praying
when I unclasp
my hands
the real prayer
begins and
we will live a life
expansive enough
to belong to
each other.
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I’m so pleased we are able to publish this poem this week. When I’m asked what good “political” poetry is, and good “religious” poetry, I’d offer this as an example.
Hannah Conti, thank you. Your poem moves me to understand & lament white privilege at a deeper level than the most cogent articles & speakers have done.
Agreed! It’s a beautiful poem. Thank you for publishing it. It was hard to read the blue text over the photo. (At least from my phone) At first i thought the words weren’t there. I would hate for other readers to miss out on the words.
Thanks for letting us know, Josina. I hope the repositioning of the photo helps!