Poetry IC 62
Eyes
By Vincent van Buuren
I stand behind the table of brass
in front of the icon of the Most Holy Mother of God
where they can light one, or more, of five candles,
which I will extinguish for others to light them again.
And everyone of them, as they light and pray,
they look up to the flame,
and I look into their eyes and see the silent prayer
only known to the Holy Virgin and them:
of the old woman dressed in black
with the parchment skin tanned by the sun,
of the mother with tears in her eyes
making the sign of the cross,
of the muscular athlete from Russia
who prays with tenderness and awe,
of the child on his mother’s arm
with eyes like an angel, radiating enchantment,
of the old man with the walking stick
whose trembling hand I have to hold to light the candle,
of the woman who came to the icon
all the way on her knees.
And as behind me a young man falls down on his knees before the icon
and bursts out in tears,
I can only stammer, Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
Vincent van Buuren is presently on a three-month stay at a Greek Orthodox monastery on Cyprus
❖
They’re gardening boots now…
By Aaron Haney
They’re gardening boots now
stained only with the dirt
of my small raised garden
Seeds unsealed from plastic
await a proper burial
reminding me of a past
that still weighs on my heart
but gives me hope
for the possibility of new life
"It's been four years since my deployment to Iraq and 2 years since I left the Army for civilian life. By the grace of God and through the prayers and support of OPF members I was able to remain safe (and sane), able to turn swords into plowshares as it were with my combat boots."
–Aaron
❖ IN COMMUNION / issue 62 / October 2011