“One wants a Teller in a time like this.”
One wants a Teller in a time like this.
One’s not a man, one’s not a woman grown,
To bear enormous business all alone.
One cannot walk this winding street with pride,
Straight-shouldered, tranquil-eyed,
Knowing one knows for sure the way back home.
One wonders if one has a home.
One is not certain if or why or how.
One wants a Teller now:—
Put on your rubbers and you won’t catch cold.
Here’s hell, there’s heaven. Go to Sunday School.
Be patient, time brings all good things—(and cool
Strong balm to calm the burning at the brain?)—
Behold,
Love’s true, and triumphs; and God’s actual.
Notes:
The portfolio this poem is part of is comprised of selections from a new seventy-fifth anniversary edition of Annie Allen (Brooks Permissions, 2024), and published here by permission of Nora Brooks Blakely. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the September 2024 issue.
Source: Poetry (September 2024)