Unwritten, unrecorded are the times,
a long day gone, they sat around the fire
and Jesus, deeply silent, watched the flames
that wavered weakly in the onyx night.

Perhaps there’d been a miracle that day;
a parable that shook a heart of stone,
perhaps something as simple as a fig,
a dab of yeast or missing silver coin.

But as the light fell soft across His face
and somewhere off a creature made a sound,
they all (among themselves, the next day) marked
His eyes transfigured diamond-like with tears.

 

This article appears in December 2021.

Jeffrey Essmann’s poetry has appeared in Dappled Things, U.S. Catholic, the St. Austin Review, America, Grand Little Things, and other venues. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website. He is a Benedictine oblate and lives in New York City.