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I found himamong 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
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