St. Sarah Sarai Carrying the Infant Christ Child

By Sarah Sarai

Creeping, is what a saffron sun is doing,
creeping out from a past it will soon revisit.

I hike my blood-red tunic to my thighs
with one hand while the other, well,
in my arms, well, always a child,
always delivered to us in indrawn-
infant stillness, as if creation
holds its breath because, really,
all this is over so much too soon.

Isn’t making art remembering
what we knew? Why not, then, salvation?

The water over rocks cold on granite—
quartz and orthoclase—and slick moss.
I’m the last person who should be entrusted
to carry Him, me of the angry sinner school.

And I would forswear sainthood and irony,
I would, for this one, held against my heart.

In response to: Saint Christopher and the Infant Christ, Follower of Dieric Bouts (Netherlandish, ca. 1480)
Mississippi Review


Sarah Sarai said…
Thank you. As in Thank You. By which I mean to say Thank YOU if not THANK YOU. I was just searching out the new url for this poem (The Mississippi Review has moved its virtual presence) and discovered this. I don't know if you can imagine what a compliment it is and how thrilling for me to find a poem of mine read and acknowledged. I'll add your blog to my list at My 3,000 Loving Arms.

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