The Rosary Poems: Joyful Alison Shaffer


When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary,
the babe leaped in her womb. LUKE 1:41

They touch each other’s hair, strand
by strand separate gray from gray
until gossamer ladders drift
between them—already it is in her,
something she cannot control, barely
hold, growing older and beyond
her—a tired voice whispers glory
in her ear, and the sun paces along
the filaments of tears that stretch
from earth into the heights of evening.


February 2005 2River