WHEN DEATH COMES

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Mary Oliver

COVENANT

The Father
knocks at my door,
seeking a home for his son: 

Rent is cheap, I say 

I don’t want to rent. I want to buy, says God. 

I’m not sure I want to sell, 
but you might come in to look around. 

I think I will, says God. 

I might let you have a room or two. 

I like it, says God. I’ll take the two. 
You might decide to give me more some day. 
I can wait, says God. 

I’d like to give you more, 
but it’s a bit difficult. I need some space for me. 

I know, says God, but I’ll wait. I like what I see. 

Hm, maybe I can let you have another room. 
I really don’t need that much. 

Thanks, says God, I’ll take it. I like what I see. 

I’d like to give you the whole house 
But I’m not sure – 

Think on it, says God. I wouldn’t put you out. 
Your house would be mine and my son would live in it. 
You’d have more space than you’d ever had before. 

I don’t understand at all. 

I know, says God, but I can’t tell you about that. 
You’ll have to discover it for yourself. 
That can only happen if you let him have the whole house. 

A bit risky, I say. 

Yes, says God, but try me.

I’m not sure – 
I’ll let you know.

I can wait, says God. I like what I see.

Sr. Margaret Halaska