Saint Francis and the Sow
The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.
+ Galway Kinnel
+++++
This is a Lenten poem if we've ever read one! From the hope of resurrection burried deep in the first two lines to Saint Francis touching and pronouncing lovely the "unclean" sow. When we read this poem, we can almost hear the great broken heart of the world sucking, blowing, and drinking deeply from the grace of God during this desert wandering.
Thank you, God, for Lent; a time set apart to commune with pigs and saints alike. Amen.