Suscipe

by Heather Kaufmann

After the Diagnosis

Pacing the courtyard

     of Trinity Church

my steps form a half-moon

     around the sunken garden

of St. Francis

     who stands sentinel

at its center.

It’s the middle of May

     the sky the color of milk

the wind quickening

     through the corridors

of Copley Square

     as I press the phone

to my cheek

     to tell my friend the news.

She asks if it’s life-

     preventing.

No, I’m told

     it’s not.

She asks after

     my soul.

I tell her it’s a weak branch

     in a gale

that I wonder

     what it means

to offer back

     even this.

My fingers trace

     the ashen rib of a pillar

which holds the roof

     above my head

as we pause    

     to fix our gaze

on the One who knows

     all sorrows.

A siren sounds—

     its cry trapped

between the Hancock Tower

     and the church. We wait

‘til it passes—

     carry on

our prayers

     like the slow opening

of a fist     releasing

     what we’ve been given—

our bodies 

     our words

expectant.

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Heather Kaufmann is a New England native, poet, and Anglican pastor. Her work has been published in Christian Century, Anglican Theological Review, Ekstasis, Pensive, and The Windhover, among others.