Jump directly to the Content
Jump directly to the content

Poetry: Brett Foster (1973-2015)


icon1 of 1iconview all

Editor's note: This is the second in a series of Christmas poems that Brett Foster sent to me shortly before he died. The first poem in the sequence, "Vessel of Sweets," was posted on December 7.


At the Our Lady of Guadalupe shrine
in Des Plaines, a young Hispanic pilgrim
discloses on the air that she has chosen
to walk there "to give thanks to God
for giving me this wonderful life." Amen,
even as someone with severe asthma prays
beside her, among thousands of fellow
visitors tonight, wishing "little by little to find
himself better." The candlelit midnight Mass
remains in my head. What was said, what was
meant and heard? Meanwhile, there's prim
speculation that the new archbishop may
be named a cardinal. Such are the odd
affairs of men, while others hurt, are frozen
in snow banks. Thanks, O Mexican Virgin,
for your apparition appearing to poor Juan Diego
nearly five hundred years ago. Our prayers
are many. Hope, not withheld. The work is slow.
1 of 1iconview all

Most ReadMost Shared