HER AMAZEMENT AT HER ONLY CHILD

by Karol Wojtyla

Light piercing, gradually, everyday events; 
a woman's eyes, hands 
used to them since childhood.
Then brightness flared, too huge for simple days,
and hands clasped when the words lost their space.

In that little town, my son, where they knew us together,
you called me mother; but no one had eyes to see
the astounding events as they took place day by day.
Your life became the life of the poor
in your wish to be with them through the work of your hands.

I knew: the light that lingered in ordinary things,
like a spark sheltered under the skin of our days -
the light was you;
it did not come from me.

And I had more of you in that luminous silence
than I had of you as the fruit of my body, my blood.

Collected Poems.
Karol Wojtyla (Pope St. John Paul II)
Translated by Jerry Peterkiewicz.
New York: Random House, 1982.

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