You, Lord, are my shepherd, imagination
figment; I seek you in patterns of Thanks–
giving tablecloths and in a bristling–
emerald suburban backyard.
I look for you in trout streams and (bless us)
in the eyes of tuna off Baja where Emmy lives.
You hide and promise me restoration.
Even as I survived loss and grieving
I have done so remembering Mother
and her prayers to You, which brings up
Thanksgiving again and the disasters
with my former husband, his anguish
carving the turkey after it separated
from the bone; I go out and weep
in the yard; surely some kind of comfort
will accompany me alone on the way back
to Boston in the car, and surely
you will welcome my soul
someday in a place that I don’t know
myself, but that Mother called home.
—Lynne Potts, “Psalm”
Art Credit André Kertész, January 1, 1972, Martinique