This poem is about my old parish church in New York, the Shrine of Saint Frances Cabrini, which is housed in the same building as a girls' high school founded by the saint and still run by her order, the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart. The saint's body is preserved in a glass coffin beneath the altar. The poem is excerpted from "Cycle for Mother Cabrini."
I found your bones that lay
Of the highschool hallway
And drummed them with my need;
They rang and rose and hurried
Me. I bought and set
Your picture in my wallet
And chose a cheap ring,
A piece of junk but something
Your sisters sell; to me
Its feel and pull heavy
On my fingerbone wore
In for a time, the terror
Of your delicate flesh, the scant
Weight within the fragrant
Bones that it seemed turned
To me as to the bright and the unburned.
-- John Logan
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2 comments:
Last year I took my children on a field trip to visit her shrine. Although I have been to the Cloisters many times, (I'm a Fordham grad), I had never been there before. My little one was a tad freaked out by her body (but she had seen my dad in his coffin) and in a weird way, it didn't seem so strange to us.
Love your blog!
Thanks for the good words, JMB. That shrine is a seriously holy place.
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