The Coronation

Contributed by Declan I.M. Deady

In this world I am your servant
Though never do I stay with you
Who at your last had friends but scant
As agony o’er your face drew
With bloodshot eyes raised to the sky
Your hands so rough, as raw wood grain
Pains ensure man no more shall die
Bearing our errs your feet gone lame
Your skin like muslin drawn too tight
O’er bones which I can total count
Sore back so kissed by lashes’ bite
Lanced side pours blood as blessing’s fount
I’ll adore every cut and bruise
That does my soul with grace suffuse

MAURITIUS

A version of this poem originally appeared in City of God, the March 2025 print issue of the Salient.