Poem July 6, 1981 Issue

In all-out meekness

(subway encounter)

CAROL CHAPIN LINDSEY

There were lots of empty seats
but the well-dressed woman
wove her way straight to my side.
"You look so clean!" she blurted out,
unsteadied by the lurching ride and by
the heavy drinking she'd been doing.
"I want to be clean."

Obviously she didn't mean
washed hands and laundered clothes
(she had those), but an intangible
tangible—a fresher thought,
a proved and childlike freedom from
the sordid life we sometimes court.

And so we talked.
I told her she could be clean.
I said God saw her innocence,
recognized her innate perfection
as His child, and only that.
She muttered how she hugged her
bottle, but before she left she'd promised
to send the contents down the drain.

When she'd gone, I knew
the Christ went with her—as with all—
at work in consciousness.
Her real craving (yours too, and mine)
is for Life's sustenance.
True satisfaction means relying—
in all-out meekness—
on God's supporting love.
For man is clean.

CAROL CHAPIN LINDSEY

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