Remembering an Old Friend

I'm named for a saint, and when i was young, she was my best friend.

I was so small when I first began to visit you,
Walking down the long aisle,
Touching my knee to the ground like they taught me,
And quietly making my way to your home.

You had a beautiful fence, a place I could rest
On my knees in your front yard of lush red grass.
So tall and beautiful you stood,
Looking out as if an invitation to enter
Was always on your lips.

I couldn't speak in this quiet place,
Listening always for your voice.
Instead I wrote my hurt words
On tiny pieces of paper that
I knew you would read when I went away.
Read and ponder-
Taking my pleas into your heart
Before you found an answer.

Two small coins in my hand I offered to you
The least I could do for the way I felt
When you looked down,
Tears filling your eyes,
dropping down to water roses at your feet.

Sometimes,
When your caretaker was there to let me in,
The gate swung open
And I could move close to you, touching a rose petal
And whispering "thank you"
As I lit one of a hundred candles that filled your home
With light.
You always told me to come back,
Silently, so no one could hear,
That I was your special girl,
Named for you,
And so closer to your heart.

I came many times, every week,
For many years,
Writing my cares and sorrows
With a tiny pencil that was always sharp.
Tucking them safely in a place where you would find them
And take them Into your heart.

Now all grown up, I still feel you there,
Inviting me to come back.
To pour out my sorrow and watch it dissipate
Into holy space,
Where miracles are possible.
To light a candle for each one I feel suffering
Under the weight of secret burdens.

I am still your special girl, decades later,
And you are still listening.

Author's Note

I wrote three poems today, Sunday, a little time to reflect on church experiences. I'll post the contrasting ones when I get a chance.

Reviews

[Inject Positivity]

This is a special write... For me it's a heartfelt remembrance of someone the poet still hold very dear to her heart after many decades since she met her... You may be present here but a part of your soul is still there in that place where she used to listen to you... Some memories never fade because they are meant to be cherished... I loved how you have narrated the sweetest and touching part of your journey with her on those days... A thought provoking write that makes the reader remember his/her memories of those important people who are no longer there with him/her...

Sincerely
Dhiman

[Marianne Rose]

At moments that are challenging in my life, I do think back to this majestic statue at St. Anne's church in San Francisco. An old church with that feeling of stunning silence and history a lot of the new churches don't have. At the worst times in my life, I have gone back there to pray and light candles for people I care about who are struggling. Yes, just signing my name makes me remember I am named for Mary, and her mother, Anne. It if as if I invoke their presence each time my name is spoken. They are both great comforts at times when the need for a spiritual mother is strong, and I have dreamed often how close they are, just on the other side of the veil. Many people don't understand the idea of saints- I just think of them as more ancestors who led good loving lives, passed on, and left some of their qualities with us. And I believe all my ancestors- spiritual or genetic, are still alive in some form and draw close to us when needed. It gives me the kind of childlike faith and trust again to remember how I put everything in her hands and trusted there would be an answer. Thank you for traveling there with me, and for understanding how cherished this is, to have the gift of remembrance.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the thoughts and the journey described.
Now all grown up, I still feel you there,
Inviting me to come back.
"To pour out my sorrow and watch it dissipate
Into holy space,
Where miracles are possible.
To light a candle for each one I feel suffering
Under the weight of secret burdens."
To be able to share our secret burdens. It is a blessed place to know. Thank you Marianne for sharing your amazing poetry and thoughts.
Coyote

[Marianne Rose]

You're right, a part of me is still there, feeling the strength and innocent faith that prayers are answered. Thank you Coyote, your reviews are always beautiful and encouraging.

[Coyote Poetry]

Was my pleasure and you are welcome.