Poem of the Week #66

Spiritual Flesh

A light shines forth
from a bag of bones
carried by an old beggar.
He dumps the contents
on the bare earth
to tell a story.

It is the story of a little boy
who grows like a beanstalk
from lad to man to fable;
lives on as the giant—
but gentle, not an ogre.

Even a mean giant grows feeble,
decays like any other fruit;
age creeps across the surface,
a wrinkled peach.

Softness ossifies,
becomes brittle,
pulverizes into dust.

Back into earth and air
the giant goes
like the rest of us—
floats by on a breeze,
the smell of night-blooming jasmine;
someone you once knew.

From essence to flesh
and back again;
like water
from mist to ice,
so too, Spirit.


Lisa Vihos