A poem written by my mother, Mary McLaughlin

October 24, 2011

Chant:

the psalmist’s  instrument

with its mission to

produce a canticle

of the soul’s yearnings.

Lilting melodies of supplication,

lamentation, and praise that orbit the sanctuary.

A long ago cry from David’s lips

                

transfigured at midpoint

as hope that rises,

a satellite of faith,

transmitted into the cosmos

and to the Son’s compassionate ear.