A Prayer for Daniél
I will remember his hands,
an Arctic wasteland of the soul.
Behind his forehead,
traumas lurked of beatings
when brain and body disconnected,
language locked
in abandoned closets of the mind,
the code of reading,
writing, driven out. And more:
no state would claim him,
only the state of grace
we share at this parting.
I spread the holy oil
on his forehead,
on his hands, a plea
that he would find a way home.
my hands prayer-pressed on head,
above the eyes that spoke
to ours in more than lost language,
the vocabulary of hope.
8 thoughts on "A Prayer for Daniél "
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Haunting!
This is so moving, Greg. I’m glad I saw it at the start of my day. What a shocking description of the loss of language and then a rediscovery, at the last, of a more durable language.
I agree–an emotionally moving piece. Bless. I also love “his hands,/an Arctic wasteland of the soul.” Shew!
Nancy says it well for me—and like Shaun, love “his hands,/an Arctic wasteland of the soul.”
Sad, touching, lovely in the writing-
“no state would claim him,
only the state of grace
we share at this parting.” – oh, goodness!
no state would claim him,
only the state of grace
Love what you did with the two definitions of “state,” and it works so well.
This is such an intense poem, haunting, and every single word is precisely where it needs to be. So well crafted and effective.
Thank you so much, Greg, for sharing this poem.
Deepest sympathies, first of all, for this loss of Daniél. Your gift of kindness and service so intertwined in your poem. Every line, perfect. “my hands prayer-pressed on head” — I will remember this beautiful line!
most chilling lines:
the code of reading,
writing, driven out
I especially appreciate the sense of touch in the second stanza