Jeanne d’Arc

People are like dinner glasses
Born long laid dusty
Time slowly spins them
Round in wash of water and cloth
Till dripping full of soapy years
they reach their age of translucence.

Yet you shattered young, Flûte à France
What life within would
Wrinkles echo forth?
Would we see England’s Joan, rancor
Calcified, sagging maniac,
Or Orlean’s maid, crowned in white?

We cannot know. All for us is
Darkened glassy sight
Refracted by men exactly
To bear the old wine brought with them
To the funeral graveyard dance.

There is no sight, only a sound.
The glass has been crunched
The wedding begun
Of Jerusalem and Domrémy.
For in your flesh the land of birth
Became the Holy Land of God.

Micah Hogan

Micah is a graduate of the Torrey Honors Institute at Biola University pursuing his Masters of Divinity from Nashotah House Theological Seminary as a postulant for holy orders in the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA). He is the theology editor at The PQ Review, and is primarily interested in the ways that desire, nature, and grace intersect in the person of Jesus Christ. He is a lover of modern art, cats, and tall, tall trees.

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