Caravaggio, The Incredulity of St. Thomas, 1601
My eyes were crimes. Curious as a maggot,
My cut-purse finger jabbed his wound.
It lifted the gash in his right side:
The knuckle fit the socket of a heavy-lidded eye,
Plucked out, but for that gore’s astonishment.
He was patient. Drawing back the shroud to show,
He said without wincing: “Because thou hast seen me,
Thou hast believed. Blessed are they that have not seen,
And have believed.” I heard the words.
I stoop to plumb those wounds again.
Andrew Miller is a poet, critic and translator with over eighty publications to his name. His poems have appeared in such journals as The Massachussett’s Review, Iron Horse, Shenandoah, Spoon River Review, Ekphrastic Review, Laurel Review, Hunger Mountain, Rattle, New Orleans Review and Ekphrasis. In addition, he has had poems appear in such anthologies as How Much Earth, Anthology of Fresno Poets (2001) and The Way We Work: Contemporary Literature from the Workplace (2008). Finally, he is one of the co-editors of The Gazer Within, The Selected Prose of Larry Levis (2001) and the author of Poetry, Photography Ekphrasis: Lyrical Representations of Photography from the 19th Century to the Present (Liverpool University Press, 2015). Presently, Miller resides Copenhagen Denmark with this wife and daughters.
7/14/2019 05:05:10 pm
That last line is haunting and perfect.
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