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).