Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Here is my consideration of a brief poem of waiting in a hospital emergency room.

by Peter Menkin (2000)

Here is my consideration

of a brief poem of waiting

in a hospital emergency room.

The man from the Veteran's Hospital

was late, and the baby cried happily.

Two children wore the doctor's bandages

in the waiting room. Earlier at evening tide

there was a quiet conference in the

education center. The man who tip toes

through the tulips was pulling his car to

the main door of Marin General when I

arrived. The beep, the bio feedback, the

numbers 106 over, 95 over, oxygen 96.

The heart is monitored by machines, the

ticking clock sweeps from the hours through

Evening Prayer, and the long explanation of

conversation with God in a description begins.

Our Father, who, art in Heaven where the Lord

lives. Hallowed is a joy to us in song and in the

majestry of golden walls. Be thy name, a mystery

unspeakable, a land and a place oh joy of hymn.

Thy kingdom, a tree where we abide and sing,

along the branches like those whose life is tended,

as the lily is beautiful so we are without anxiety in

your Kingdom where there is clothing that we neither

work nor labor and Come. Thy will, your will be done.

Me in thee and thee in me. On earth as it is in heaven,

the cherubim and the archangels sing a constant hymn

of song in worship and adoration in this holy spirit that

yours is. Give us this day, to begin and say this is the

day the lord has made, let us

be glad in it. our daily bread to eat as a manna from

heaven a promise of which we are not worthy, oh, I

have denied thee, and loved thee, for you are a rest

to me and a comfort. Forgive us as we ask this of you

in your grace of giving this question to us this evening

the hour turns towards nine o'clock and the doctor is

waiting the nurses are coming. I am thirsty, and listening

now in another room. As we forgive those who trespass

against, for this is a prayer against another, in the wrestling

that is our lives, in struggle and in toil, my heart beats,

breath and practice bio feedback.

Us, whom we think about. The us of the hospital, the patients,

the nurses, the paramedics who are in their blue uniforms.

Cool and so well waiting. Someone has died. I sense it,

for I practice discernment, Oh Lord of my life, my love in

testimony, I seek thee. Thou art here, where can I go from

thy presence. For thine is the kingdom, and the power.

I meditate upon this and contemplate the beep of the system,

the pressure on my arm, the woman with her husband, her

marriage in Christ, and the closeness of their concern in

love of waiting, the glory, oh, yes, thine is greater than the

cosmos of imagining. A creation beyond of goodness, a place

of beginning that is where the I am that I am for you have

come across me and the saints are living presences among

the waiting in the rooms curtained one from another. Forever

and ever. Amen. I ponder, I contemplate, I look for meditation,

the baby is a joy to everyone. Whose heart is this saint's? A

charity of visitation, a transfiguration of compassion, a


of a journey in prayer. The lady across the long room wants

me to say confession for her.

Yours sincerely.

Audio reading by poet of his work is here:

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