Praying Afterwards

 
The priest stands
beneath a gentle crucifix
in splendid robes
humbly saying consecration .…
 
Is my mind wandering,
when I see a wintry road,
with farm machine crashing?
On ice, a tractor falling,
to press its farmer down .…
 
I feel him lying there,
I hear his cry for help,
the empty sky,
a mile away
a barking dog .…
 
Mixed with the prayer our priest raises,
the smell of the winter cold,
the touch of stinging air,
and,
when the Host is raised in halves,
his broken bones…
before the loss of consciousness,
hope, and fear .…

   The priest offers the sacrifice,
and we around the altar
each have private prayers:
“Lord Jesus among us,
this man who suffers
is a man I know .…”
 
No one told me the time of day,
but I see darkness’ edge
bring slow northern night,
chilling a man who is not yet missed.
Now I offer a prayer for him
though he was found a week ago.
 
Here we receive communion
in the warm church,
with candles lighting faces,
a lovely voice singing
sweet Angelicus .…   
 
I see his wife at home,
wondering why he’s late,
then, if he’s safe,
and finally,
putting on a coat
to hurry and search
where  –  where?
until she sees the tractor silhouette.
 
I know this woman, and I am praying too late.
This moment came and went,
but I am praying for her .…
Can you, Jesus,
use these prayers now?
Since I knew not
to pray then,
can you take my prayer now,
and heal with it?
 
So, I offer my communion,
for the woman finding him,
crushed and cold,
holding his head and hand,
speaking to him,
running alone for help…
(though no one told me so)
and for the man, waiting .…
 
Then others come, crisis done.
I am not involved.
I hear later,
far away, no details. 
 
But I know the road and woods,
and love these good people,
and so I imagine,
and my heart is taken by the Mass
to their darkness.
 
Even after the fact,
with Your sacrifice, O Lord,
I offer this up.
 
                                                (for Mr. and Mrs. S., 1980s)