Nobody in the hospital

Could tell the age

Of the old woman who

Was called Susanna


I knew she spoke some English

And that she was an immigrant

Out of a little country

Trampled by armies


Because she had no visitors

I would stop by to see her

But she was always sleeping


All I could do

Was to get out her comb

And carefully untangle

The tangles in her hair


One day I was beside her

When she woke up

Opening small dark eyes

Of a surprising clearness


She looked at me and said

You want to know the truth?

I answered Yes


She said it’s something that

My mother told me


There’s not a single inch

Of our whole body

That the Lord does not love


She then went back to sleep.


–Anne Porter, Living ThingsĀ 

One thought on “Susanna

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