Poem: “Grave of the Angelic Pastor”

Grave of the Angelic Pastor

I spoke to stone today
As if it was you

Your photograph was there
With an unnatural background
Indistinct clouds and rays of light
Surrounding your face

You were always so engaged in life
It is strange to see you still
And without a context
Even if it is only in a photo

The stone has your name
First, middle, last
The stone tells when you were born
I never knew your middle name
Or your birth date

Until you died

It feels profane
For me to read those things from a stone
In a public place
Unveiled and plain
As if they were never intimate or private

Maybe in death
Privacy is gone

Maybe in death
We belong equally to anyone who remembers us

It seems unjust
But it is a back door for me

Death is the equalizer
So that I can love you
No less than anyone still here

And I can hope that
If you do remember me
I am just as significant
As anyone else

Who can read your middle name
And your birth date
From a stone that bears
A motionless image of your smiling face

In memoriam: Fr. Thomas Showalter, SOLT (1957-2013)

Terri Kimmel

Terri Kimmel loves open source learning online, walks two miles every day rain or shine, and is a hobby poet and fiction writer. She is a cradle Catholic who considers herself undergoing a continual conversion. She’s a sinner. She and her husband are discerning a lay vocation with the Society of Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity (SOLT).

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