May 25, 2025 (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, May 25, 2025, feast day of Our Lady of Puy, Our Lady of Consolation (Carey, Ohio), Our Lady the New (Jerusalem), Icon of the Mother of God of the Passion, Saint Madeline Sophie Barat, Saint Bede the Venerable. Jewish calendar today commemorates Idolatrous Practices Abolished (c. 135 BC). Image from here.)

May 25, 2025

Remember Our Lady of Puy today -- appeared atop a dolman, bridge.

Remember Mom’s birth, her love of Angels, flight.

Remember her today on her birthday, first one in Heaven. 

She’d nudge us to sing, sweep of times not withstanding.

To smile — when you look for reasons you’ll find them -- Just 

                                                                              remember 

                                                                             

*From prompt: Freewrite as inspired by "Remember" by Joy Harjo. From Lisa Freedman's BreatheReadWrite, May 25, 2025.

She Who Knows the Way (WC)

 

Wendy Cabell. Though piece began February 15, 2025, it evolved over time, and is being shared today April 27, Divine Mercy Sunday and feast day of Our Lady of Light (When the work is done, said the Virgin, all shall know by its more than human beauty that a greater mind and a higher art have arranged the composition and laid the colors), Our Lady of Montserrat, Saint Zita of Lucca and Blessed Maria Antonia Bandrés y Elósegui. Image is a Medieval Marian Mosaic from Saint Mary Major, from here.)

She Who Knows the Way

(for Pope Francis)

A rendezvous spot, Saint Mary Major.

She leaves directions: Be

Simple

Humble

Essential

Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, 

in the crossing of my arms? 

Do you need something more?

*Inspired by Pope Francis’ burial wishes (here), his burial place (here), and Our Lady’s words to Saint Juan Diego and by extension to us (from here): Listen, put it into your heart, my youngest and dearest son, that the thing that frightens you, the thing that afflicts you, is nothing: do not let it disturb you…Am I not here, I who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need something more? Let nothing else worry you or disturb you.

When They Buried Us (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell. Though piece began February 15, 2025, it evolved over time, and is being shared today April 27, Divine Mercy Sunday and feast day of Our Lady of Light (When the work is done, said the Virgin, all shall know by its more than human beauty that a greater mind and a higher art have arranged the composition and laid the colors), Our Lady of Montserrat, Saint Zita of Lucca and Blessed Maria Antonia Bandrés y Elósegui. Image is of the wonderworking Medieval Icon The Podkubenskaya Mother of God, from here, from which also: You walk through a field in the wind, in the wild, all alone, your hands are stiff, the frost penetrates your bones, and you keep thinking that She is near. She warms you up in this vast desert in the frost and in the snow… Compassion and understanding. These are rare sentiments now. She’s compassionate, which means encouragement and comfort. She comforts you only by looking at you…)

When They Buried Us*

(imagined interlude through the eyes of The Refugee by William Orpen)

They didn’t know.

When safe to return, will I want to?

To Motherland, I mean.

She didn't want me —

Yanked roots still linger in her lap.

The mountains, they’d always hugged me. 

I’d hug back. 

Arms in my lap just now, girlhood stories come to mind.

Mother Seton, Kateri Tekakwitha, countless others of their kind.

Booted for believing, they’d trek on west,

plant hymns, teach-tend, weave nests,

turn heart-soil right over —

*Based on the well known quote They tried to bury us, they didn't know we were seeds. It’s thought to be a Mexican proverb, made famous by Nicaraguan poet Ernesto Cardenas  in the 1950’s,

in an epitaph for Adolfo Báez Bone — The actual line, written in Spanish being

They thought they buried you, but what they did was bury a seed.

Variation of this quote was also later used by Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos in the 1970s. See here.  

**From combined prompts: Free write as inspired by “gathering words” by María Luisa Arroyo Cruzado and

“Letter” by Joseph Fasano. From Lisa Freedman's BreatheReadWrite Studio time, February 15, 2025.

“When a Mother dies, the children sleep on a leaf” (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, Bright Week 2025. Image is connected with Bright Friday's theme of the Life-Giving Fountain of the Most Holy Theotokos, from here.)

“When a Mother dies, the children sleep on a leaf”

(complied/adapted from Slow Noodles by Chantha Nguon*)

When you lose your Mother, you lose the roof over your head.

You lose the rice in your bowl.

What single seed from your old life 

will help you sow a new one? 

You will know, as you roll out your moments 

like you roll out your slow noodles —

      

                        one by one, 

                                     deliberately, 

                                                      and with love.

Follow your puppy sense. It knows that time equals love, 

and love equals deliciousness.

Put your trust in God, and in each other, not in gold. 

Play the role of a defeated subject when necessary.

Remain undefeated in the important ways wherever possible.

These ingredients for Mom’s Silken Rebellion, you will need them --

But you are ready.

You have her recipes.

*Compiled/adapted from Chantha Nguon, Slow Noodles: A Cambodian Memoir of Love, Loss, and Family Recipes. This piece is a found poem crafted with words and phrases found in this book and used in a new way. 

Minimal Requirements (WC)

  

Reposted in honor of Pope Francis

(Wendy Cabell, September 14, 2023, feast day of the (above) Universal Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross, the Lesna Icon of the Mother of God, Our Lady of Einsiendeln, Our Lady of Steinbach, and Blessed María López de Rivas Martínez (confidant of Saint Teresa of Avila; body incorrupt). On Jewish calendar today is the Creation of the Sun, Moon, and Stars (3760 BC). Image from here.)

Minimal Requirements

(for Pope Francis)

–Time: to care more, not less

–Space: an ocean’s plain –- for love 

 

      t o   s w i m

  

                       a r o u n d

                              i n 

–Magic: pearls –- from grit-glide-time

  ( as in lots and lots of time ) 

          for star’s  b l o o m

*Based on a quote from Pope Francis, Love needs time and space; everything else is secondary. [Author Laura Alary looks to something similar, a trio of time, space and room (receptivity/generosity.)]

**From combined prompts: Freewrite as inspired by “homage to my hips” by Lucille Clifton (Lisa Freedman’s BreatheReadWrite Studio Time, September 14, 2023), Ana Blandiana’s “As if” (Lisa Freedman’s Type.Coalesce.Become,June 2, 2023), Ted Kooser’s “Pearl” (Marj Hahne’s Poem a la Mode, IWWG, June 2, 2023, near Our Lady of Bocco's feast), and  “blossoms at night” by Kobayashi Issa and “the old pond” by Matsuo Basho (Tresha Faye Haefner‘s Friday Editing class, The Poetry Salon, May 31, 2024).

Home Economics (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, March 28, 2025, Our Lady of Castelbruedo, Virgin of Panecillo/Quinto, Our Lady of Mercy (Burgundy), Saint Gundelindis/Gwendolyn of Niedermünster (Niece of Saint Odilia of Alsace). Image from here.)

Home Economics

How do you feel poor, when cornbread wafts from the kitchen, or baked apples appear on your plate, or Grandma sews up matching red riding hood capes for you and your doll come Halloween eve. And mornings, they’d usually start with Mom’s Rise and shine, her kissed I love you.

Why are your friends always the wealthy ones in your class? It was Mom’s grade school lament. I didn't know what to say. Just friended those who liked what I did — book bingeing, slipping notes during math class, silly skipping down the sidewalk on the way to school. I didn’t feel the divide.

Till the day we studied the Great Depression. 

Best friend Grace’s light laugh, Well, my family wasn't suffering. She’d casually listed all the companies they owned. 

I’d remembered then, the stories told round our supper table. Great Grandma Otten forced to sell her restaurant, the one she’d pinched and prayed for, the one Great Grandpa Herman slaved in the ice mines for — led to his double pneumonia, her young widowhood. Mere manager now, she’d quietly tuck away customers’ leftovers, to give her six kids their one meal a day.

Grace, she’d go on to be a pediatrician. Me, I’d teach preschool, get hit by a truck as I crossed the street one Fall, early disabled. 

And life now, it’s midst medicines, treatments and assistance can’t afford, it’s living in this 60’s travel trailer. Though these walls of hers have made it, through hurricane winds, tree limbs through the roof, near misses with wildfire and flood. Spirit Bear Abbey, we call our home. She’s made it this far, thanks be to God. 

And so have I. 

eve’s candle, stars, we sip

sage tea, Joseph’s benediction —

I love you too

*From combined prompts: freewrite as inspired by excerpts from “I Am Never Not Thinking About Money” by Kasim Ali, “Economics at Gemco” by John Olivares Espinoza, and “Money” by Philip Larkin. From Lisa Freedman’s BreatheReadWrite, March 28, 2025. 

My cousin tells me our family loves Mary cause She gets our quirky femininity (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, March 16, 2025, feast day of (above) Our Lady of the Life Giving Spring and Saint Jean/John de Brébeuf, Jewish calendar today commemorates Rebuilding of Jerusalem Wall Begun (c. 41) and 3rd day of the "Triple Purim". Image from here.)

My cousin tells me our family loves Mary 

cause She gets our quirky femininity

Well, Blessed Mother, You’ve seen what we do.

We economize, embalm our departed on the kitchen table,

heartened by candleabra’s glow.

We adopt our grandkids, stack Pampers by the Geritol

to give young Moms a break.

We angel up remote ranches and travel trailers,

serve porcupine meatballs, twice baked potatoes.

When forced to sell our restaurants, we negotiate, 

stay on as manager.

You, Mary, Who gave birth in a stable, blessed atop dolman stones*, 

calm requested that water turn wine —  We know You understand. 

We stop time midst any bustle, yes today --

Hand to apron, find Rosary beads…

* Our Blessed Mother’s “quirk” of blessing atop dolman stones is a reference to Our Lady of Le Puy, Our Lady’s first apparition after her passing, which involved a prehistoric dolmen, see here. 

**Above piece was inspired by layers of family history, as shared by family members over time. Most recently inspired by cousin Maureen, who in response to my question, So why is it, you think, all the women in our family are so devoted to Mary?, replied: She’s the one woman who understands our quirky femininity.

***From prompt: Freewrite as inspired by “If They Should Come for Us” by Fatimah Asghar, from Lisa Freedman’s BreatheReadWrite Studio time, March 16, 2025.

When Entangled* (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, composed sometime in February but gathered March 3, 2025, Beginning of Great Lent, feast day of Our Lady of Miracles, Our Lady of Angels, the Volokolamsk Icon of the Mother of God, Saint Non of Wales, Saint Katharine Drexel, Saint Teresa Eustochio Verzeri, Blessed Concepcion Cabrera de Armida. Further edited After Pope Francis' passing on Bright Monday April 21, piece was further edited on Bright Thursday April 24 (also Molcha/Molchensk/Ladder Icon of the Mother of God, and passing of Patriarch Joshua). Image from here.)

When Entangled*

(for Pope Francis)

Come from the four winds, O breath,

and breathe on these slain,

that they may live -- from Ezekiel 37:9

Seeds fallen among thorns. 

Bills and bicker, borders...

                    

Be simple, 

Our Mama says, 

                 breathe...

Love -- extraordinary bloom -- needs time, needs space,

bed, chair, glow-table, hands across.

A few words: Sorry. Thank you. Please...

Everything else is secondary.

*A cento-esqe poem inspired by all the sources linked to above (Matthew 13:7 and Our Lady of the Thorns, Our Lady of Mercy/Pellevoisin, André Frossard, Pope Francis, 2 Kings 4:8-11, and again Pope Francis, respectively). Most notably inspired by the following quotes from Pope Francis (Amoris Laetitia/The Joy of Love):