The Keeper

(A Liturgy of Rememberance)

The iron waits.

The hammer waits.

The old wrench rests where it was laid down at close of day.

Dust gathers.

Seasons turn.

Roads are rerouted.

Names are forgotten.

Voices fade into silence.

Still the hands remain.

Scarred by labor. Marked by years. Steady upon the weight entrusted to their care.

Not building.

Not reaching.

Not grasping after what is new.

Keeping.

Keeping the iron.

Keeping the memory.

Keeping the witness.

For every age produces things.

Few preserve them.

Fewer still remember why.

The hands do not release their burden.

They keep faith.

And in that faithfulness, the line endures.

—John S.