Holy, holy
I was never looking for a personal g-d
not even in my poor and spiky childhood.
I was always looking for the experience
the knowledge, the sensation of holiness.
Something beyond my self. Not lightning
or the whirlwind but powerful and still
at once. I thought of strong light.
I thought of the burning bush, consuming
but never consumed. From time to time
usually but not always when writing
something would seize me, bear me
up and out of myself as in an eagle’s
talons. I’d almost forget to breathe.
It was never for long. I’d return
shocked, my mind on fire, a rushing
in me, a coming together, clarity.
It happens less as I age. Perhaps
I can’t bear too much of what burned
the trivial from me. Maybe once more
before death into that high bright place.
I’m not a shaman or religious scholar
but from time to time something power-
ful, barely endurable, takes hold of me
by the nape and shakes me clear.
Copyright 2018 Marge Piercy
