Father Damien

Father Damien

Catherine Johnson

For he was bold and generous
and inclined to mirth. For he doubled 

his strength by faith. For he scaled
ten ravines on Molokai, vaulting 

over the hollows; for when he spotted
corpses rotting in ditches he hammered

coffins and shoveled graves,
blessed the bodies, raised their names.

For he tripled his tally by service.
When a leper passed him a plate of poi

he bargained for the difference –
he took it from her hands

and touched her fingers.
For he swaddled sores and dressed

ulcers. For he irrigated the soil and planted
a garden, tendering thanks for both root

and leaf. When his own skin puckered
with blisters he knelt in the forest,

scabbed and fetid, weeping
to his doubt. Why have you afflicted me?

His only answer a raucous cry
throated from a honeycreeper.

For still he persevered –

multiplying his labor, increasing
his reserve. For he pranked death

with a jig; for he swept the dust.
For he sported on horses; for he played

a lute; for he gathered the children

in a chorus and taught them
an old Flemish tune –

 a song his mother sang to him
when he was a boy in Tremelo.

For he administered sacraments, received

confessions. And on one of those many
days when his wearied god was spent,

Father Damien yoked himself
to a splintered plough

and planted the garden again –
the weight of him light as a feather.

---

Catherine Johnson
Poet

Catherine's poetry has been published in Rattle, Oberon Poetry Magazine, and New Millennium Writings

Photography by Will Truettner