Poetry Corner

A different blog I read just shared this poem, and I like it enough to save it here, too!

Who the Meek are Not
Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent

under burlap sacks, not the peasants knee-deep

in the rice-paddy muck,

nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles

make the wheat fall in waves

they don't get to eat.  My friend the Franciscan

nun says we misread

that word meek in the Bible verse that blesses them.

To understand the meek

(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop 

in a meadow, who--

at his master's voice-- seizes up to a stunned

but instant halt.

So with the strain of holding that great power

in check, the muscles along the arched neck keep eddying,

and only the velvet ears

prick forward, awaiting the next order.

-Mary Karr, The Atlantic, April 30, 2002