Healer

Jennifer Blair

When he retired, the faithful

streamed after him with pies—

mindful ladies who would gasp

in horror to be ungrateful lepers

caught not returning. So they

remembered him, especially on

holidays, seeking out the rain

gutted gravel drive for the sake

of their healed daughters and

husbands and sons and their

own past ailments eased. And

they never stopped coming

even as they also aged, slowly

hobbling across his bumpy yard.

When did grandma ever have

room on the side table for a

proud cake of her own?

Instead, she brought out

wares from other women

year after year, latticework

on top of cherry and peach

concoctions growing increasingly

wobbly as we all worried down

petering out hymns baked for

some savior we’d never met.

#poetry

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