Friday, March 13, 2009
Poem: Washington's Wineskin
The old wineskin hangs on the wall,
it's leather warm and dusky,
the veteran of campaigns
born of war and the aftermath,
always held close
against the time of drought
that comes to all lives.
You reach out, knowing it is forbidden
to touch the artifact hung so artfully on the wall.
The the draw is irresistible,
as if his energy, his ability to endure failure
and suffering to emerge finally
as something more that a survivor,
can be transferred, like those who touched
Jesus' robe, and were healed.
Your fingers brush the leather
and there is no magic, save
another reminder that you can, and you will,
The picture really is of one of George Washington's wineskins, from Mount, Vernon, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.