Today is Palm Sunday. Many thanks to Sylvia Daly for this poem, which compares a Catholic child's experience with the reality of date palms. Love it.
Palm Sunday
How can I trust them again?
They gave me a dry,
dead spike of a leaf,
tortured into the shape
of a cross.
My childish fingers
unfolded the sharp, tough frond.
I struggled to see
the triumph of the day,
waving my acrid spear
in jubilation.
Older and wiser, I saw a real palm tree.
Graceful fronds arched with sensuous curve,
fruit hung in pregnant bunches,
all giving shade, sustenance, beauty.
My religion had killed this vision.
Twisted the beauty to fit the wish of
foolish, clever men, who choked
the spirit with their efforts.
How can I trust them again?
Sylvia Daly
Such a poem. Subject and words in perfect accord.. Loved it.
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