There is snow
on the steps of a church where nuns' lives turn to dust.
a mute sun sleeps dazed in the low sky
and starlings let their wings fall, giving up all memory of flight.
The street is empty,
the silent intersection a cross
held in the still hands of an old priest
turned to stone forever.
Women in their black shawls move quickly
but the low sky has stopped and falls
bit by bit
on the steps of a church where an old priest has died.
The nuns are silent.
The women wear their black shawls,
and always,
there is snow.
_________
I guess this is sort of a sketch. It interrupted what I was doing this morning and demanded to be written. There are a lot of abandoned churches in Detroit, and while editing this, I had them in mind. The congregations, often ethnic, grew smaller and older until the parishes were no longer viable.
Each stanza is a colorful stained glass window of the cathedral; beautiful with much to ponder. I love this poem Shay with the sentiments it holds and the way it circles back to the snow that always can be relied upon to be there.
ReplyDeleteSimply beautiful. And sad. And always there is snow.
ReplyDeleteI could see them, the starlings' wings falling, the old women in black shawls, the dead priest.....and snow. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThere's a sense of inevitability to this--who can stop the snow? It will fall, and age will come, and in its own way, grant us a peace we may or may not have much time to live with, but perfect while it lasts. Beautiful poem, Shay.
ReplyDelete"the silent intersection a cross
ReplyDeleteheld in the still hands of a an old priest
turned to stone forever." i like that imagine, very strong, kind of makes the whole poem for me. i can imagine looking down from a tall building and seeing the image of priest made of concrete and asphalt holding his cross to his chest, the intersection of human beings, that is his burdon forever. really enjoyed this
The repetition of “There is snow” draws out the hidden message: “There is no.” The heaviness, hopelessness, and sorrow in this piece make it a metaphor for being turned away by the church when seeking help or comfort. It is a dark time indeed when the church is not doing its job. Though heartbreaking, every word of this is gorgeous.
ReplyDelete