What I love about the ampersand is its compactness
& the way it’s open to new & unexpected possibilities
almost forming an eternal figure eight but not quite
for when the sentence seems to be over
or approaching its end the ampersand appears
like the first of a hundred thousand well-armed angels
emerging from the backseat of a Volkswagen & improbable hope
erupts like a new sunrise sharply piercing the skin of dark night
with radiating shards of light
& despite the smug sleep of the ninety nine sheep
when the wanderer’s gone the good shepherd appears
with it draped across his shoulders & the lost coin
is swept from the cobwebs
& the prodigal stumbles home where his father watches
& waits & refuses to lose hope scanning the horizon
for his returning son & then he grabs the hem of his garment
& runs & it’s then we recognize the continual pattern
of conflict & resolution of estrangement & reconciliation
& even of death & resurrection
a pattern that is by no means inevitable but woven
like the arms of a twisting ampersand
into the fabric of the universe
D.S. Martin, author of Angelicus, is poet-in-residence at McMaster Divinity College and lives in Brampton, Ontario.
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