What I further love about the humble ampersand
that former twenty seventh letter of the alphabet
is its grace & how despite
its relative anonymity it communicates
not needing its name spoken per se or even known
like the Corinthian vase painter
identified only by the ampersand tail-flourish of his sphinx
& like the unnamed angel directing Philip
down the road to Gaza & Philip himself
an obscure clay vase brimming with good news
& even the receptive Ethiopian whatever his name was
& how the ampersand directs our attention
elsewhere but unlike the snowplow driver
whose hidden impulse to leave his mark
bent a shopping cart into a pretzelesque signature
stuck in the snow
for the ampersand is content
to connect all that’s gone before with what is yet to come
perhaps suggesting
that although we’re also bent & all so twisted
& stuck in the now that that need not be
the final word
D.S. Martin, author of Angelicus, is poet-in-residence at McMaster Divinity College and lives in Brampton, Ontario.
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