I found him among my souvenirs

A gift from an elderly woman– she was stately in her manner, refined–

to her pastor

Given in that long ago

Place and time

When I was more than I am now

And thought less of it

Not 8″ tall, his head is bald

A faraway gaze in his eye

As if he just remembered something

And now longed for it

Concern plastered on his plaster face

His left hand grips the pulpit

To help him stand firm

Or perhaps for fear he might lose it to some unseen force

Held reverently

In his right hand

A Bible

Opened to some passage with which he has wrestled

And now struggles

To give it just treatment

In its exposition


I have him now

Displayed on a bookcase built with my own hands

Among the books I have not lost

Or given away

To remind me

To make me sad for those days long gone

To make me glad they ever were

To give me comfort because they remain

Among my souvenirs