Beads of Blessing
I keep a strand of clay blue porcelain beads
My husband gave to me some years ago
In easy reach on the shelf behind the bed
For nights that toss the coverlet and pillow
Into storming disarray; I’ll fumble for my beads,
Once prayed over by a hundred hushed voices
Whispering to God for comfort and release
From suffering, and transmutation of grief.
A quiet, centered breath infuses each
Small sphere as it rests in tender palms.
I imagine holy hands holding smooth beads
Joined together by the plumb line of a quiet song,
Of closed eyes and the calm of willing heart
Conveying broken blessings sprung from pain
Made whole again in sacrament of offering
To bless another.
–V. Doerper, 04.28.14
A long strand of glittering thanks to Victoria Doerper, who has graced us, once again, with the blessing of a fine poem.
Lovely poem. . . haunting. I think of my prayer beads by the bed!
Thanks for reading, glad you it spoke to you.
Very beautiful poem. Thank You.