The Chaplain Came

By Helen Pepper

The Chaplain came
In plain clothes
And on a filthy night.
Twenty miles in the
Deep dark hurled rain
Rent with wind that stole breath.

The Chaplain came 
Equipped
But even the good book 
Could not enter quarantine.
She hand-wrote for us
Scraps of paper held 
The precious and last rites.

She held us together,
A lasso 
In our fugue state.
A stone circle around Alex.
She made the curtains enshroud a
Hushed and sacred space,
A pool of warmth and light.

She reached out
And anointed my Yorkshire lad,
My prince amongst men
The hairs on my arms prickled
As she blessed his face,
Her fingers traced
Our prayer.
He left us.

We couldn’t have left him, then
Without her care, 
Without her signing off
The enormity of his life.
With dignity, tender pride,
We were all blessed,

The Chaplains come. 
Unsung, they hold the lost.

To make the best of the worst.

I sing their praise,
These self-effacing few.
There for us at the edge of 
What’s to come.
They hold us close and 
Send our lost ones on.
A soft goodnight.

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Written Word ‘Soul’ poems