Glass Cross

for my mother

Transparent, unadorned, this modest gift
………your friend the stained-glass maker made was stuck
………………by suction cup to the sunroom’s plexi door:

five lead-lined lozenges the size of Chiclets
………formed the vertical, and one on either
………………side, two transepts, fleshed out the cruciform.

Its bevels bent faint rainbows, painting bruises
………across the floor, your lap, your face. Bestirred
………………from chemo naps, you looked beyond the pane

to a clutch of hummingbirds: fiercely they fought
………and foraged at the feeder cantilevered
………………from the outer door, darting and diving,

vanishing, reappearing to tongue the sweet
………red nectar before the iridescent beauty
………………fled.
………………………Had flown.
………………………………………….When you gave up the ghost

and Dad the house, where did the glass cross go?
………I dismissed a trinket’s comfort, some redemption
………………after loss. And now I cannot find it.

• About
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Brad Whitehurst

A native of Richmond, Virginia, Brad Whitehurst lives in New York City and teaches at the Nightingale-Bamford School.His poems have appeared in Shenandoah, Sewanee Theological Review, Meridian, and other venues.His book-length manuscript has been shortlisted in the Able Muse Book Award, the Donald Justice Poetry Prize, and Waywiser Press’s Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize.

Also by Brad Whitehurst (see all)

• Glass Cross - May 30, 2021
• Glass Cross - February 23, 2021

Author: Brad Whitehurst

A native of Richmond, Virginia, Brad Whitehurst lives in New York City and teaches at the Nightingale-Bamford School. His poems have appeared in Shenandoah, Sewanee Theological Review, Meridian, and other venues. His book-length manuscript has been shortlisted in the Able Muse Book Award, the Donald Justice Poetry Prize, and Waywiser Press’s Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize. View all posts by Brad Whitehurst