What Your Hands Have Found To Do

A worn King James Bible,
edged with gray duct tape,
rests on the farm house table.
This Word,
planted deeply in rich soil,
a consonance in cornrows.

Leather work boots,
mud caked,
set neatly at the doorsill.
A bowl of corn soup
steams in the November kitchen.
As holy a sacrament
as Samuel’s oil on Saul’s head.

A Hohner harmonica, slid in overall pockets,
combats the clanging tambourines of the Philistines.

The same worn King James Bible,
edged in gray duct tape,
illuminated by a desk lamp.
Hands that turn
the notated pages
and spread the seeds
along the rows,
like the alliteration of alfalfa,
have also sown the mustard seeds of glory
among these pews
every other Sunday for decades.
These hands having truly found
what they are to do.








Bryce Alan Flurie
November 2008