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Still

A poem

Published on:
May 11, 2019
Read time:
1 min.
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He is calm against my breast,
my small son, now still.
Cheek to cheek, our breaths slow, united.
I hear the Psalmist’s sigh-
“I have stilled my soul…”

Glory could not embrace;
Majesty Eternal could not encircle, enfold.
Spirit could not hold flesh,
so Creator of all flesh became
arms and breast and breath united.

Became hands twined in his mother's hair,
became knee that bounced a fussing infant-
gums swollen with emerging teeth-
became shoulder that supported Martha,
her grief-tears mixed with his.

“Come away,” they urge, “There's work at hand.”
But Divine Affection became fond form
to caress and comfort, breathe and bless.
The Psalmist spoke Christ enfleshed-
“I have stilled my soul…”

Tai French
Tai French received her BA in English from Huntington University and her MA in Medieval Studies from Western Michigan University. She enjoys binge-reading and sharing her love of literature and history through homeschooling her six children.

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