Poem: A little time

A little time

Patrick T. Reardon

 

A little time, give me a little time.

 

Let me pray, preach, hymn,

rant, roll on the floor in visions.

 

Let me wash tainted feet

to clean my tainted hands white as snow.

 

Let me take my seat at the sinners table

with the great liars and smiling scourgers,

with the little brown-gown nun

and wild ecstatics, pierced to the heart,

with the wounding wounded and the bureaucrats,

beige as porridge,

with each body breathing, enduring.

 

A little time, give me a little time.

I’ve been in the long storm.

 

Let the sky open to the blank white.

Let the rat tunnel under the garage.

 

Let the crown of pine-wood thorns,

the carpenter tree of pine-wood,

the pine-wood portions of the Samaritan well,

the pine seed parable,

the pine boat on the inner sea,

the pine kindling of the fire

for the hungry ones back from fishing —

let all pine-wood rejoice.

 

Let the Great Amen echo forth.

Let the Great Hosannah.

Let the halls of heaven

echo the child’s fast footsteps.

 

Let the soil flaunt its raiment.

Let the pigeons pontificate the sidewalk.

 

Let me whisper my real name in the whirlwind.

Let me have a little time.

 

 

Patrick T. Reardon

 

This poem was originally published in After Hours, Summer, 2025