Skip to content


I wear a mark of memory and promise,

a saint’s medallion, strung on links of silver

running round my neck.

A gift of love

given on a day when everything seemed

too much. Too hard. Too sad.

In a year when the path was

lost and unsure.

A pendant of St. James. The pilgrim’s saint.

He calls me down the road,

reminding me that I am motion-born,

and that only footsteps stand

between the journey and the fear.

I hold his token when I sleep, or think, or fret,

a bit of bright hope hung over my heart

that says

tomorrow is another day for walking.

Published inUncategorized