The Ember

A bearded prophet tall in the pulpit, 
a robust voice that reaches past 
the door and can rasp scruples 
or salve a hurt.

An itinerate preacher,
each weekend another church,
another guestroom
someone else’s golf clubs
cluttering the closet,
his, unused, at home. 

Now, he mispronounces some words
stutters on others, syntax fractured, 
he struggles to retrieve 
a fragment of memory.

His stricken brain won’t release 
old ideas to his tongue. 
He speaks in simple sentences
of how others have loved him;
an uncomplicated wisdom 
unlocked by his tragedy.
The stroke a burning ember to his lips.

Dedicated to Rev. Robert Rivers, CSP

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Images courtesy of WikiMedia Commons.