The Medallion of the Holy Child
1 I saw the Bride once,
five years ago,
in Sea Isle City.
Her face was veiled
by ocean mists and
conjured vapors.
She moved along
the boardwalk
bare-footed and alone
against the trials
of night winds and
the romantic spray
of mirages.
She was the lost Psyche
mourning her abandonment,
searching for his face,
his scent, his footprints
among the broken scallop shells.
Night lights flared and faded
behind a sky of
deep green gauze
...dawn saw no sign,
nor sound, nor smell,
nor sight of him.
2 Word was that she
had disappeared
in the wash of illusion,
or was wandering mad,
word even of her dead
and found floating one
spring morning on the waters,
but I saw her again
this past Indian summer.
Her face was still veiled,
her bridal gown lit golden
shimmering to red-orange,
to deepest scarlet
against the setting sun.
One could sense her burning
and blushing with
new love.
She moved joyfully
on the sand to the
clapping sound of the
breaking waves,
her beautiful,
beautiful hands
finding --
then touching,
carrying --
then venerating,
adoring--
then exposing,
a wondrous hand colored
medallion of
the Holy Child.
3 October 1988
William Hart McNichols
- Icons by Fr. William McNichols
- Information about Fr. William McNichols and his Icons
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Fr. Raymond A. Bucko, S.J. of the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Creighton University. E-Mail: bucko@creighton.edu
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