They are coming for the body; a nurse certifies That who she was is no longer resident in what She was, selah. They turn out to be one woman. Her name is Helene. Selah. She eases what was A woman onto a gurney. A daughter assists her. Though the waters roar and be troubled, we will Not fear, though the mountains vanish in the sea. Selah. Would you like your mother to be facing Up or down? Up, please, selah. She zips the bag. She did believe, yes she did, selah, she received The glories of the Lord each and every day with Her eyes which remained hawkish until her final Breath. Is that so? says Helene, selah. Transplant Candidates, then, certainly. Sign here . . . and here. I will drive very carefully, absolutely. His mercy Upon her soul, selah. She trusted in thee. Refuge She will discover in thee, and her husband’s arm, And her mother’s kiss, and all calamities are past, Selah, and housekeeping will come for the sheets. God is in the midst of her, and God shall help her. There is a river; the waters of which have no end; Amen and then again amen. In the lobby a father Is reading the sports section while his child gulps The biggest soda I have ever seen on this blessed Wild and weary earth; amen and then again amen.
Brian Doyle is editor of Portland magazine at the University of Portland. He is the author of Leaping: Revelations and Epiphanies, A Shimmer of Something: Lean Stories of Spiritual Substance, and, most recently, Chicago, a novel.