MATINS
by Ann Glumac
I
worship in the early dawn,
an
ecumenical affair.
The
muezzin is a warbler of some kind,
his call a
whisper that darts and weaves
through
the soft green leaves of June.
The water
is temple,
chapel,
mosque; a holy,
holy place
where I am
supplicant.
I breathe
in the Holy Spirit,
incense of
lilacs, apple blossoms,
Balm-o-Gileads,
the clean
smell of fish.
I give
thanks. For the bindi
of the
red-winged blackbird.
For the
tapers of river grass
lit by the
rising sun.
For the
pollen dusted like blessing ash
in quiet
bays and inlets.
I am
infused with grace,
so
grateful for this moment
I thank
them all:
God,
Allah, the Creator, Yahweh.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank
you.
One cannot
be agnostic in this boat.
-------------------------------
Ann
Glumac lives on the
banks of the St. Louis River in Duluth, Minnesota, where she is inspired every
time she looks out the window. A writer and a poet, a trainer and a consultant,
she currently is at work on her second collection. Ann also edits poetry
manuscripts and conducts poetry workshops.
She writes
to capture moments large and small, to make sense of them and to share them
with others—creating, with her readers, a common experience, a place they go
together. While composed of words, her poems owe their vitality to this interaction
between writer and reader.
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