Saint Flannery hear my plea
May your ears listen to my supplication
My sentences won’t do my will
They sprawl like unruly vegetables
Weed and fertilize. Prune and watch for caterpillars.
The workshop rise up against me.
They laugh at my moral endings.
The soul to achieve grace
Must divest itself of the love
Of created beings.
Saint Flannery hear my plea
My stories have no mystery.
Life is a mystery.
If your story has no life
Be still.
Saint Flannery they torment me.
No one will listen to my denouement.
When the time comes we will all be heard by someone
Whether we want to be or not.
Saint Flannery comfort me.
My characters will not collide.
There is nothing in earth or heaven
Escapes the eye of God
Which breaks whatever is not well made
With a spring inside
Drawn from the rock.
Saint Flannery hear my plea:
What if I never see God?
The spirit hovered over the depths
And then said: Let there be light.
And then he rested on the seventh day
And didn’t write another word.
Saint Flannery stay with me
For I fear the night grows quiet.
Listen to the wind in the trees.
It’s calling you and the tails of peacocks
Leave feathers to touch
On the heartless ground.
Saint Flannery stay with me
For nothing I write will last.
Nothing is in the eye of God
More than a handful of dust
And a prayer waiting for light,
A breath soon lost.
Tags: atar hadari, flannery o’connor, poems, poetry
Wow. This spoke to me. Touched me. I don’t usually enjoy poetry. Impressive.
Beautiful!
I am accustomed to only summoning Saint Flannery via the mystic incantation, “MVSEVM” but your way is… better.
Finally, a prayer I can get behind! Saint Flannery indeed.
Right on.
Loved this (and anything to do with Flannery O’Connor).
I love this. I think of her as one of my patron saints.
I love this. I think of her as one of my patron saints.
This is quite wonderful. I want so badly to take this as an actual litany.
Wonderful, wonderful! Petition to commission saint’s medals adorned with the visage of our beloved Miss O’Connor. Okay, she would really, really hate that. Peacocks, maybe?
I really love this–the harsh non-comforting consolation of it.