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.
