Saturday, February 2, 2008

Feast of St. Brigid

Ever since all of my pre-vacation reading I did for my Ireland trip a few years back, I've had a growing fascination with St. Brigid (pronounced bree-git with a hard "g", and meaning "fiery arrow"). February 1 is traditionally the Feast of St. Brigid, which I did not know until today, so clearly my family and I missed out on any big Feast of St. Brigid celebrations we might have undertaken had I been more up on my saint days and thus better able to plan. (There are tons of Brigid bios online, all slightly different in story it seems, but this one is pretty good, if you're interested.)

However, reading the Yarn Harlot today, I saw that she was taking part in the third annual Silent Poetry Reading, which was happening today in honor of St. Brigid. Those in the blogosphere taking part did so by posting a favorite poem on their blogs. So, in the spirit of "better late than never" and with a half hour left in the Feast of St. Brigid Day, I'm going to share a poem I loved from the first time I read it...enjoy!

Heaven on Earth
by Kristin Berkey-Abbot, from Whistling Past the Graveyard, 2004

I saw Jesus at the bowling alley,
slinging nothing but gutter balls.
He said, "You've gotta love a hobby
that allows ugly shoes."
He lit a cigarette and bought me a beer.
So I invited him to dinner.

I knew the Lord couldn't see my house
in its current condition, so I gave it an out
of season spring cleaning. What to serve
for dinner? Fish -- the logical
choice, but after 2000 years, he must grow weary
of everyone's favorite seafood dishes.
I thought of my Granny's ham with Coca Cola
glaze, but you can't serve that to a Jewish
boy. Likewise pizza -- all my favorite
toppings involve pork.

In the end, I made us an all-dessert buffet.
We played Scrabble and Uno and Yahtzee
and listened to Bill Monroe.
Jesus apparently has a healthy appetite for sweets,
I'm happy to report. He told strange
stories which I've puzzled over for days now.

We've got an appointment for golf on Wednesday.
Ordinarily I don't play, and certainly not in this humidity.
But the Lord says he knows a grand miniature
golf course with fiberglass mermaids and working windmills
and the best homemade ice cream you ever tasted.
Sounds like Heaven to me.

1 comment:

Abby said...

Isn't that poem great! Anyways thanks for stopping by my blog and I am glad you enjoyed it. Also your about page is wonderful, you have a great writing voice.