The Bluestone Review Spring 2022

Faith Healer By Donna Beal Dying My father believed I had the gift Believed I could heal him Believed in miracles And me

And once I believed it too The anointing of holy oil The laying on of hands in broken places And I did all of it Pretending it could work As if making up the sing song tongues of angels Would work As if His confident blue eyes would work As if Faith the size of mustard seeds could make anything happen As if I could raise him from the hospital bed Bring him back to the kitchen table Back to long walks around the neighborhood Back even to God. But faith is only desire and that is all. It was the wish I knew could never come true. It was surviving long enough to find out Everything is all done. Instead of more time I gave him a blank journal And said I would keep his story alive. He waved away The journal And me

And I think I heard him mumble In that voice with sharp edges No use No use at all.

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