Lumblia BreadIs it time for lantern city lights to discreetly whisper behind you
bringing gossip with enveloped secrets
to demur a long fearful pause while climbing up the Old Town Stone Brick Road?
….a long shadow presence memory echoes dirge walk
in your solemn wonder
“How many chairs trembled empty at the Thanksgiving table today?”
And I taste your thought: “Still lumblija, the soul bread, connects us all,
Stone GatejpgI am the last one who holds the family recipe”…
Autumn chill shivers through hollow streets
planting over and over the endless question in you,
“why is she never coming back?”….
…Actually, I never left…
when you kneel before the dark face of Our Lady of Sorrows
and sit on that wooden bench at the Stone Gate shrine, where I used to pray
I will warm your palms holding earthly and heavenly doorway
An you will be with all of us missing
Surrendered to the flaming caresses of the consecrated candle light.
Do not hold your breath, let it freely loom in a muttered sob dive
and join chorus of women’s prayer in blooming rosary trance
I feel the first snow melting on your eyelids, I walk with you, holding your arm,
And, as usual, I trip and miss the last step….
The great fall,
but you are here–
my mother’s hands on the forehead blue bruising past….

The End

Stone Gate, A paryer to Our Lady of Zagreb


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