Anne Porter asks for authentication in “A Short Testament” from her book Living Things. I keep a copy hanging by
the study door so I can be reminded as I go out to meet my world. Like
everything that has a place, the paper has mostly become an unseen part of the
wall. But it is there and, when I slow down, I see it and am reminded of its creed.
A Short
Testament
Whatever
harm I may have done
In all my
life in all your wide creationIf I cannot repair it
I beg you to repair it,
And then
there are all the wounded
The poor
the deaf the lonely and the oldWhom I have roughly dismissed
As if I were not one of them,
Where I
have wronged them by it
And cannot
make amendsI ask you
To comfort them to overflowing,
And where
there are lives I may have withered around me,
Or lives of
strangers far or nearThat I’ve destroyed in blind complicity,
And if I cannot find them
Or have no way to serve them,
Remember
them, I beg you to remember them
When winter is over
And all your unimaginable promises
Burst into song on death’s bare branches.
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