I went to Smyrna, my usual
sales trip, bringing with me
what I had to sell. I arrived
amid the cries, torches in the night,
soldiers dragging men, women
off, children taken, too, and some
too young left behind. What is
this, I asked my innkeeper, what is
this thing. Avoiding my eyes
he said, simply,
it’s faith. As he pushed the ledger
to me to make my mark,
his hand shook.
It’s faith, he said.
Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.