Saints

I cannot escape this body
of Christ and all its earthy,
imperfect parts:

arthritic hands slow to grasp,
unshod feet unwilling to move,
spindly limbs too weak to lift,
eternally underfed stomach,
cloudy eyes always squinting
and considering.

What would I be on my own?
Kneecap, single follicle,
unattached tip of little finger.

Together we can inch forward,
reach out again and again,
touch just the hem of His robe
to be healed.

• Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry

• Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com

• Download sheet music here: Latter-day Ministering