POETRY
Ground Truth
“For I desire mercy, not sacrifice…” A poem on unpolished love, church pews and quiet grace by Baldric the Poet.
Ground Truth
Grace at Row Thirteen — A Poem by Baldric the Poet
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“For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” Hosea 6:6
He came in smelling of hay and spilt rye,
six feet of cedar felled by a jade ax,
his knuckles hard, round acorns on his hands,
his thick fingers unapt at thumbing beads.
Beside him walked a slender copper creature,
in rustling silk and narrow, four-inch heels,
Swaying in stride, claiming every man’s eyes,
she held her chin high, sculpted like a queen.
In varnished rows, the elders held their breath.
Parish gossip click like a bale knotter,
count up the months he farmed beyond their view,
sizing her up to see how she’ll fit their pews.
How much postage for this overseas crate,
shrewd men of business estimate her rate.
She wore a wide round hat with one red rose;
he stood, a king with felt hat in his hand.
No stone-carved angel sang up in the loft,
no sanctuary oil flared out a sign;
just two copper clods caught between the prongs,
holding hands, snuggling under his arm.
No sermon preached forgiveness of their sins,
nor words to force the couple to fit in;
no incense smoke could buy what love had won,
nor altar-fire outshine her steadfast smile.
For grace shined at the end of row thirteen,
and holiness stood in their staggered height;
a blind brute harnesses their breaking plow
and earth turns over and buries the weeds.
© Baldric The Poet 2026
