The Hug (for Susan)

Lying here at DaVita
my vagrant arms
tied to a machine
that hums: a-lone
My main line
scars and ostomy
a secret too deep
to tell.
Should someone come
—a delicate voice—
——pearl-like say,
Lord let it be Jacob’s
angel, ethereally real
just enough to soothe the aches
that leave seared scars—
The pleasant hug that tells me
“you are not alone down here.”
I feel the need to genuflect
for Christ has passed this way.
We can still see and touch
and make small tender gestures
toward the light:
This sacrament of our present
touching our past.

Post written by Brother Rick Wilson. His poems are from a forthcoming collection (2019): “New and Selected Poems: Bleeding, Bruises, and Blessings.”

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