Poem January 25, 1993 Issue

Incident at Nain

Luke 7:11-16

Bernice Waymire

I was a pallbearer that yellowed afternoon.
The weight of my dearest friend
was an ache in my whole body.
Grief ran deep. He was so young.

The waves of rampant wailing bore his mother on.
And she a widow. The double loss
seemed doubled in the crying.
We were core of that pulsing throng,
struggling through narrow streets,
dust rising, drying throats,
clotting tears.

Then at the city's gate
we met a man. A man I can't forget.
How could I?
His radiant presence blocked the crowd,
stopped the crying,
stopped the crush of passionate grief.

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