Follow the Gleam
“Aye Sir Galahad, that we might see the grail!”
The girls at summer camp are lining up
along the lakeshore, beneath the granite dome,
exiting drab cabins in their Sunday whites,
in their bold heraldic tunics,
bearing wooden swords and shields
for the last day’s pageant.
They are King Arthur, Galahad.
They are the one-hundred and fifty knights
who set out and failed.
Little sundrunk halfwits, nasty as the gods,
unleash high-pitched Christian ballads
as they advance in single file—
Autumn, Winter follow, mulching
their hymns. Only Sir Bors, returning
to home’s wilderness, will sustain a girlish faith:
that she may march towards some truth,
no one can view, that means as much
as lakes and mountains.
Biography: Katherine Meehan lives in Reading. Her poetry has appeared at Bath Magg, The Moth, One Hand Clapping, Ink, Sweat & Tears and others. She's currently working towards her first collection.