Fragments
Inspired by the publication of Anjos in 2012, the year my mother died, I continued to write what I call “fragments,” short, free-form verses, and to pair them with pictures of cemetery angels. I call them “fragments” to remind myself that they represent but a snapshot of thoughts and feelings looming so big in my mind that capturing their full magnitude would overwhelm me and paralyze my attempt to convey my ideas. By allowing my thoughts to be fragmented, I feel freer to write fragmented but authentic feelings.
Over the years, my fragments have helped me to express myriad feelings and insights I’ve had in anticipation of visiting local cemeteries and cemeteries in places where I travel in both the United States and abroad. A project that I started to celebrate my mother’s life has inspired me over the years to look deeply into my existence and to question issues concerned with death and dying, the denial of death, afterlife, the role of religion around death, and the exquisiteness of life.
Fragments will include 12 to 20 pairs of photos and verses from hundreds of photographs I taken and from dozens of fragments I have written over the years. I am in the process of pairing them and of deciding which pairs I will share here. Below I provide a sneak preview.
Sneak Preview
Mysteries
Clutching the rosary my sister gave me; last night, I reflected upon the glorious mysteries of God’s salvation
Having taken a valium, I held the beads, each ever so slightly firmer between my fingers;
God forbid I should lose my place
For a moment, I thought of Mary Magdalene and the sex she may have had with Peter and the other disciples on the way to the desert
But I digress
*
I held the next bead a bit more tightly … couldn’t miss the count…
God forbid, should I skip the mystery of Jesus’ Resurrection, the man I’m supposed to emulate
I started on the next mystery, the Ascension, the one upon which I should reflect on the 40 days He roamed the earth
He promised to leave no orphan behind, but I am and He is in heaven, sitting at the right hand of His father
Before I could contemplate the meaning of bodily pain and crucifixion, I finished this mystery and fell asleep
In the space between awake and asleep, an inch from disappearing into space, I moved toward the wind, now gathering me, taking me where it’s safe
There I had no fears. In this fleeting state, the frightening ghosts had turned into friends
Still, they woke me up, enough to know I was there, where?
Before I let go completely, faintly came the light between the window shades
Stomach tight, aching bladder, shallow was my breath
I reached for the rosary between the folds of my blanket
“Don’t miss the count,” I heard myself, “this may be your last”
Don’t skip the Assumption; you need the comfort that comes from it
And the strength to wake up and get moving
For unlike Mary’s, the one to whom I pray, my body is corrupted, my sin, my father’s desire
For a moment I get stuck in the coronation of His mother
I hope to reach the heavens, as she did
So many I know are there … there no one is dead
We’ll share with His mother the glory of her son
As the mother of us all, she will plead with Him to be merciful to me
