Intercession

Christian Century, April 5, 2005 by Jean Janzen

Intercession

   Winter dawn pinks even this dirty air,
   here where the currents of the world
   stall between mountain ranges.
   We awaken inhaling fumes and dust,
   the calls of crows, breath and prayers
   from around the globe.

   A child in church, I knelt with
   the congregation, leaned into the wails
   of women around me pleading for the son
   lost to Chicago, for Hiroshimo's victims,
   the girl with the iron lung. They would
   begin on a pitch around middle C
   and slowly rise with arched phrases
   into a high tremolo toward the amen,
   as though reaching to heaven.

   Now the sun tears
   the gray veil, and doves repeat
   their soft, low moaning, for heaven
   is nearer than we think--in the undersides
   of leaves and in their shine,
   warmth on my shoulder, scent of bread.
   Even in that sick, black night when a man
   stood in the center of the lane, his arms
   out, pleading for the headlights to come in,
   as we stood beside him, now in a silent
   heap, his boots flung off, as we
   breathed "mercy," as we breathed "help."

Jean Janzen