New Advent Practices
by Melanie Weldon-Soiset | @MelanieWelSoi
Worn language won’t stick.
Like used duct tape, our repast
chatter cannot fix
what COVID broke. Our politics
a wild animal, escaped,
trampling the vineyard
underfoot. No mulled wine, or
small talk, will tame this boar.
No crowds around the holiday
ham, no pile of packages, no
nativity play can heal
these plagues. What bitter deal!
I’m stuck. Empty, I stay put,
and wait. I’m hungry for
new wine, new bread, and new
nourishment from You.
I cannot feed
myself. I name
my need.
Nutrition comes through a
book I bought months ago,
an invite to set a plate
on a steadfast board, a fete
whose menu consists of
art: main course of Miro,
appetizers of O’Keefe,
paired with Michelangelo’s reliefs.
Dessert from Nina Simone, with
cocktails from Kusama. Underhill
bathes the banquet in prayer.
How rich this meal! I pull up a chair.
As I partake, I feel my warp
and woof transforming, sinewing
the ties that bind within.
Me, now full, now new wineskin.
Today is the feast day of St. John of the Cross, known for his theology of negation/via negativa.
