print previewback HENRY HART
Annunciation, 1960
By the bare altar
the minister pinned paper wings to my shoulders,
scolded me for forgetting my halo.
Light glazed the sweat
on his forehead. I hid behind a curtain,
sniffed the lily in my fist.
Aching for the Virgin
to end her song, I mouthed:
“Blessed art thou who art favored with the Son of God. . . .”
Under the cardboard dove
I knelt, hoping for a miracle
to write the angel’s lines on my hand.
All I heard was blood
throbbing in my ears, the Virgin’s gown
rustling toward the curtain,
shoes scuffing the church floor.
On the stage crisscrossed by shadows,
I waited with my crushed lily, my gift of silence. 
Annunciation, 1960
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