Hymn (1) by E. R. Skulmoski Jehovah, I was in the basement when the mold And mildew congregated to form the contours of your face, The second coming of the shroud of Turin. I was a river at that time, abruptly damned And cut off, unable to nourish the trees in my garden. Catalog of intrusive thoughts galloped like horses, Peeling back the face of my beloved mountain. Prayers at that time were cold, wet rotting the baseboards, Staining the carpet. There I laid down, expecting to breathe my last For the night, when you put your hand over my head And the morning light came barging through the window.
E. R. Skulmoski was born in Vancouver and raised in Hong Kong. She currently lives in the Interior of British Columbia with her husband and four children. Her work has been published in Ekstasis, Barely South Review, and Vita Poetica, among others.
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Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem.