Ode to St. Anthony of Egypt

Of all the saints, my Anthony,

I love you best. For you did

what I long to do: you walked away

from a life of comfort and ease,

walked away from the green Nile valley

out across the sand and into the

desert of the human heart.

Alone you dug out a cell,

blew a kiss to the mad world,

and tucked yourself in for the long soul's night.

And when the demons came,

as demons will, you fought them off

with the sign of the cross and the sweet

name of Our Lord--the name that

nourished you when there was no bread,

the name that moistened your lips

in a dry and barren land.

Oh, Anthony, I can count the ribs

just beneath your cracked skin,

the whiskers hang down like dried seaweed,

the dirt and dust cake your every wrinkle.

Come, let me guide you down to the river

where I may wash you, and oil your skin,

and trim your nails and tie back your hair.

Anthony, Anthony, sit on this rock with me

and tell me how it is to lose so much,

and then to give what's left away,

and then to forget what's been lost and given

in the good and strong arms of Our Lord.

Here, let me place some honey on your tongue.

Can you yet hear the water trickling

down the dim back wall of your cave?

This steady stream that kept you alive,

that overflowed your cupped hands,

the stream that ran beyond your humble cell,

filling first the desert within and then without,

the stream that still flows on and on,

my Anthony, even though you're gone.

This stream of living water from which

I now sip and thirst no more, I offer to you,

reader, in memory of this beloved saint.

 

© copyright 2008 David Denny

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Published in Sojourners

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