Blessing (at St. Winifred's Well)

The prayers crack like skin.
There never is enough spirit.
 
Imagine the drip of it,
the last of the flow in a thin line
saved in an elderly woman’s
flat, dark hand.
 
Sometimes, the sudden rush
of life. I splash my right hand
into the pool and anoint myself
with the sign of the cross. My wife
holds our son over
the waters -- after men women
children for miles, years around
slip in, jump in, dunk
their heads -- and dips his
frantic feet

naked but
for his nappy, and in the chapel
I pray
that even if he is not healed
the blessing would sing
over his whole life.

--
​after 'Blessing' by Imtiaz Dharker