IMMORTALITY

 

IMMORTALITY

 Walking in woodland and surveying the here and hereafter

We were as one, until she said,

“When you go I will put on the biodegradable stump

An image of the Giants Causeway.”

“When you go,” I said, inhaling and exhaling;

“I will place at your feet a bowl of steaming porridge with the recipe.”

         *              *              *              *

 In death I have seen them,

Catholics to the left and Protestants to the right:

Resting in peace, and, “called to higher service.”

And heard him, without a hint of irony

And looking below and beyond to the skerries, say,

“This would be a great place for an hotel.”

        *              *              *              *

 I found them where the property developers had left them,

Discarded, in the corner of a derelict cemetery;

Their names fading from communal and decaying concrete slabs.

“Confrères.” Men of the cloth and consecrated virgins, who,

In sadness and hope of the Resurrection

Previously were laid to rest at the feet of Christ, crucified.

A secluded and sacred space for both the living and the dead.

         *              *              *              *

 It was January, the feast of St. Paul, and the ground covered in snow.

And their hearts were full of joy as their confrères waved goodbye.

And the missionary sisters, nervous, but destined for the warmth of Africa

Made friends with the children in front of them, and signed themselves

with THE SIGN OF THE CROSS.

And thrust back into their seats they careered, careered, slithered, tilted and swerved

And ran headlong . . . into eternal life.

 __________

 @ Cormac E. McCloskey