Psalms for the Poor
Psalms for the Poor talk back to the blunt and beautiful phrases of the King James Bible. Sometimes personal, sometimes political, the original Psalms complain, question, curse, and adore: “Why do the wicked prosper?” “When I consider the moon and the stars,” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” “The Lord is my shepherd,” “But I am poor and needy.” Luther’s last words were, “We are beggars.” These poems are for the world’s poor, and for the pauper in each of us.
Ps. 9, “The needy shall not always be forgotten. . . “
A quiet, gentle boy, he always was,
and small; the dark eyes of a dying deer.
“What would you do with a million dollars?”
we asked him when he was ten—some fifteen years
ago. He smiled. “I would buy potatoes!”
He lifted up a board and pointed down:
there was a two-foot space under the floor.
“I would fill it with potatoes—good, brown
potatoes.” “But a million would buy more,”
we said. “What else would you buy?” “I would buy
bananas.”
They held his funeral outdoors
because no church knew them. A public shrine
would have to do for him, the gathered poor
his passing bells, his drawing-down of blinds.
