O Lord, restore us deaf and blind,
Unclose our lips tho’ dumb.
(Christina Rossetti, “Advent”)
At my desk, while
a quiet internal road ebbed
and flowed with the business traffic
of the common afternoon,
and wind
kicked up dust from the gravel carpark
and tossed hair
into plaintive matts, and threw
clothes into disarray
I saw
on computer screen a chiselled Christ
embed an Auschwitz prison wall
and mothers cried to Him, How long?
before I resumed my chores.
My heart is weak and does not long;
I chisel comfort on my wall.
O Christ who pleads as mankind bleeds:
make me long. How long?
The Consolations of Writing 