After Illness
J. Marshall Jenkins
Recovered, more or less,
still a bit tired, remembering
the illness, the drain, dis-ease,
grayness darkening, hope
dimming, restless rest,
wondering now how it came,
how to fend it off better
next time. Meanwhile,
it takes perhaps a poem,
birdsong, a child’s question,
a gust rustling leaves –
such miracles as these –
to turn my attention
to the healing, energy,
ease, and color as despair
retreats. Then I praise the One
Whom I could explain away
with white cells and green tea
if I want to keep it simple
and mechanical, but without
Whom prayers of gratitude
land amid the same thorns
that might have snagged
pleas for help if not for
God’s intercepting ear
and healing hand.
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Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted (Matthew 5:3-4).
Another wonderful poem. Especially the last few lines. They just blew me away. I hope you are well. It sounds like you went through an illness. Bless you and Wanda.
Thank you, Cinda! Actually, I wrote the poem while recovering from illness some time back. But I know so many people who are struggling with a bug in these parts, I decided to post it for them.