Poem July 9, 2001 Issue

Seeking substance

By Bettie Gray

I say a prayer. I read the Word.
Eyes skim the edge of meaning,
and words are mouthed—words
that hover on a tangent to my heart.
So where's the sustenance? I ask.
What is there to form the sinew of my soul?
Where the sweetness, salt, and savor?

In the pause that questions often lead to,
answers—dressed as questions—feed the hunger:
Would the Soul of meaning place a prayer
upon your plate and leave you to dine alone?
—or does Life infuse its words with Spirit's
living power? Does Love not keep you company—
and Love's unbounded grace
suffice?
Do you not know whose words these are?