Thoughts in the Chapel
How I will
Greet the Lord
In heaven
I do not know.
But here
With the Sabbath organ
And Sabbath bread,
Or at home
Beside my bed—
Whenever we converse,
Just Him and me
(Watching the sunset
Or the sea)
I can at least
Rehearse.
– First published in Beginnings (1967) –
Christ’s Garden
I am told that he was
the firstborn of our Mother Father
fashioned exquisitely in the fresh heart of heaven.
Was our Mother midwife to his mortal birth
gently funneling his fullness
into the tiny body in the manger
and singing praises with the angels
singing glory and peace and goodwill to all?
—for these things She had taught her son.
Did She celebrate the holy act
of his baptism with the gift of a dove
bringing a white breath of heaven?
And was She the One storied by Luke
who came to him in the garden
on the night of agony?
Did She hold him, wrap him in
his Mother’s love
bathe his face with Her tears
strengthening him
strengthening him
a hand on his head and a hand on his heart
reminding him of the power planted
in him before the world was
power to bear not only the pain of the cross
but the pain of the evil of the fallen world
that cut deeper than thorns or nails
and would soon burst his hero’s heart
strengthening him
strengthening him.
Did She sing to him through the night
sing until his hour came
until the cock crowed?
– First published in Finding Mother God (2020) –
During the Sacrament
The eight-year-old, newly baptized
takes the blessed bit of bread
from the silver tray in her brother’s hand
glances at her father
who is always on the stand
And whispers to her mother
“When I’m twelve I’ll get to
pass the sacrament, won’t I?”
“Shhhhh!”
The voice of her ten-year-old brother
in a loud whisper across their mother’s folded arms:
“No!”
“Why?”
“Shhhhh!”
“’Cause you’re a gurrl!”
The eight-year-old’s mind
full of every Harry Potter book
half of Louisa Mae Alcott
and many other worthy friends
speaks silently:
“Maybe when I’m thirteen.”
The voice of her sixteen-year-old brother
who kneels at the white table on the stand
to bless the tiny cups of water:
“. . . that they do always remember him . . .”
“I love Jesus . . . maybe when I’m fourteen . . .
. . . absolutely when I’m fifteen . . .
he will remember me . . . .”
Silence.
Then the voice of her Other Brother
sweeter than Goodnight Moon:
“. . . I . . . do always . . . remember you.”
– First published in Exponent II (Fall 2021 / Vol. 41 No. 2) –
Carol Lynn Pearson began her writing career with the surprising success of a small volume of poetry titled Beginnings in 1967. She has since written in many genres and on many subjects, a primary one being transforming patriarchy into partnership. Her most recent book is Finding Mother God: Poems to Heal the World. Carol Lynn holds a master’s degree in theatre from BYU and lives now in Walnut Creek, California. Visit her at carollynnpearson.com.
