Lament with Alleluia

When all our certainties Long crumbled in the dust of Nine Eleven Are shaken yet again By gunfire in The second grade, the theatre, The summer concert crowd, the cafeteria, The synagogue, the Mother Church, The grocery on Monday afternoon, The haven of release from pain— When our sister Brianna of the bright smile Is murdered in her bed, When I dream I cannot breathe And feel the noose around my neck; When plague stalks hope and a virus worse Than COVID bleeds all colors from our flag, When the best among us is undone Not by unending labor, but by casual denial Of that truth self-evident—that We, created equal, are members of one Body, and if you die, I am diminished— What remains? This morning Birds sing in soaking rains. Pruned roses thrive; survive a killing frost. Perfumed nard poured From a shattered jar still Fills the house. Some give substance, Spend breath and labor kneading grain Of days to birth our bread. They walk on Without a thought of cost. Oh, friend, I must believe that love, Though motley fool she seem, And double crossed, Lives on. Is Love, So freely Lavished Ever Lost?

Rose Marie Quilter, RSCJ March 25, 2021 N