Thursday, June 7, 2018


The other day I looked back at a poem I wrote a while ago and re-worked it a bit....

Oh glory what can gather
in the wingspan of my voice…
the bite of a color, 
a wide-sky ache of longing, 
the song inside a stone.
These wings, my voice-
oh the pleasure 
when it flies,
when it smooths and when it
pauses; when it rises;
when it follows a sonnet’s contours,
when it wails and when it laughs;

when it is freed on the power
of a spiritual truth and wakes
the word from the page
and conforms to it, tastes
the story and speaks the feast;
These wings, my voice.
Oh, what I do not yet know, 
what I consider in awe and curiosity,
is how far this voice
can stretch.
I want to use these wings until
at day’s end they are weary
and can go no further.
I want to feel
syllables of life upon my feathers
and be able to describe how they catch, 
how they lift, how they weigh, 
how they waken the fireflies 
when they skim past at dusk-hour.

Kimberly M. King, RSCJ

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I just found your blog. Oh my! What a lovely place to sit and visit.