Vox Populi
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Ellen McGrath Smith: Hand me your last resurrection 
Hand me your last resurrection
so I can laminate it. That way, when you spill
bourbon all over it, it will stay safe,
like a small child hidden in a hollow tree
while the soldiers kill his family.
I will not fold it. I’ll pretend
it hasn’t been creased
to the point of crumbling.
The laminate will hold it together.
Look at it and see your beatific face reflected.
You hit bottom and climbed your gnarly way
back out. It’s visible now in the light.
Look it in the eyes;
stop staring at the well that nearly killed you.
Copyright 2022 Ellen McGrath Smith
Ellen McGrath Smith is the author of Nobody’s Jackknife (West End, 2016). She teaches at the University of Pittsburgh.
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There is something miraculous about the arrival of certain poems you select. On some dark mornings they have been like visitations, like angels speaking fierce wisdom and taking my breath, except that the voice is human. This is one of those poems. Thank you, again.
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Your comment is a poem onto itself….lovely.
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Thanks, Maddie. What a lovely comment.
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I’m just seeing this now, and I thank you for your kind words a little over a year later. It’s so good to know the poem spoke to you.
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It seems like only yesterday to me . . . I am glad, early this morning, to come upon your note, and to return to the poem.
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