Literary Magazine

  • WINTER 2016 ISSUE

  • ARCHIVES

  • ABOUT

  • SUBMISSIONS

  • CONTACT

  • More

    Advice

    February 17, 2016

    Wände (Walls)

    February 17, 2016

    Digging in the Sand

    February 17, 2016

    Self Improvement

    February 17, 2016

    Prescription for Stress

    February 17, 2016

    Wiffling

    February 17, 2016

    Fun

    February 17, 2016

    The Soprano down the Hall

    February 17, 2016

    That Time of Day

    February 17, 2016

    Way of All Flesh

    February 17, 2016

    Please reload

    Recent Posts

    B. Tucker Lacy

    2/20/2015

    Jennifer Blair 

     

    Jackson’s chaplain, B. Tucker Lacy, had a brother who owned

    a house near the hospital and took Stonewall’s severed limb

    to his brother’s family cemetery.  –National Park Service

     

    Great and mighty things, seek them not,

    and I followed this instruction, keeping mine

    eyes averted from the front lines. After all,

    it was my job to provide succor—speaking

    of things beyond the bloody grass—even 

    while ministering alongside a man whose

    lips were never far from prayer, nor mind

    from meditation—so much so—any

    meager ministrations made on his behalf

    were borne of rote not strict necessity.

     

    Imagine my surprise then when my slumber

    was broke one evening by hurtled out words.

    I jumped up, put on pants and boots, and soon

    gathered the catastrophe from the cool night air.

    When led to the spot, the deed had already

    been done. Tho no breath is more sacred than

    another, I still ran from the room, hoping to

    seize the brand from back out the fire, such

    was our affection. Is this his, I cried, cradling

    the thing in my arms as I rushed back in. 

    When the surgeon solemnly confirmed,

    I knew I could not put it, indistinguishable,

    back on the heap, the common pile, but

    swaddled it tender as a firstborn babe, 

    mind busy planning a proper burial.

     

    Never God’s favorite or even his spare,

    I had arrived at that one moment. And I

    stole up the hill with such a hope in my heart.

     

    Tags:

    poetry

    Please reload

    fiction

    non-fiction

    poetry

    visual art

    Please reload

    Search By Tags
    • Facebook Basic Square
    • Twitter Basic Square
    • Google+ Basic Square
    • Facebook Classic
    • Twitter Classic
    • c-youtube

    ​FOLLOW Folia

    Contact the Webmaster

    This website and all works are © 2014 Folia.  All Rights Reserved.

    All works remain the property of the Authors and are protected from unlawful reproduction by the copyright laws of the United States and applicable international treaties and conventions.