the 23rd psalm

For my Aunt Elinor on her 89th birthday

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My Aunt Elinor enticed us, one summer,

to memorize the 23rd Psalm.

Her lure? A shiny cellophane bag

stuffed with candy and tied with a gold twist.

Pixie Stix, Tootsie Pops, Swedish Fish,

and bite-sized Charleston Chews.

She was strict about her proposition.

No half-memorized lines. No fumbles.

I was in fifth grade

and already knew just how good it was

to lie down in green pastures.

But how might I have understood:

I will fear no evil? The valley

of the shadow of death?

All I wanted was the sweet

abundance in that crinkly bag.

Did she know, my aunt, that one day

I would deeply need those truths?

That in memorizing the lines

I was binding to my heart

words like: Comforts. Restores. Still.

For...ever…more.

The candy was delicious.

I still love that stuff.

Even more, I love my aunt

who coerced God,

so surely, into my life.

But most especially, I love

the ancient words she gave

that summer. And the way

their sweetness lasts.

And lingers still.

Kate Young Wilder