Fellow saint and sinner Sally sent this poem by Lisel Mueller along, which seems so fitting for all of us saints and sinners at this intersection between God and life; so I share it with you, too, in hopes that, as you begin another seemingly ordinary week of work, you might also be assured that “the mirrors burn when you pass.”
There are Mornings
Even now, when the plot
calls for me to turn to stone,
the sun intervenes. Some mornings
in summer, I step outside
and the sky opens
and pours itself into me
as if I were a saint
about to die. But the plot
calls for me to live, be ordinary,
say nothing to anyone.
Inside the house,
the mirrors burn when I pass.
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