They asked me to write a poem, even if I have repeatedly told them I am no poet. I decided to accept he challenge and asked Husband and Gus to look it over--they made it Hopkins-like for sure. I loved writing of my vivid memories and re-living those wonderful times... and loved how they made it read so beautifully.
Blesséd fire, candles blest: Light leads us inside
A dim familiar interior-EXULTET! Darkness torn!
A timbre so profound, the tones fan tiny flames,
Like Love's Light, spreading bonfire sparks.
The softness of her hands guides my child-fingers
Up and down the black, square, sacred ink.
Cloistered lungs lend voice, bring life
To notes in mother's own worn missal.
Memories cling fierce to Paschal bells resounding
'Cross Alleluias and Glorias rung-riding,
"Heaven is again at hand! Our Savior is rising!"
Ana has been writing since she can remember, although poetry is a more rare exercise. She scribbled poems in childhood, memorized poetry in Catholic school, and her Masters thesis project dealt with the translation of Portuguese Catholic poetry into English. Ana has won a national award for a poem entitled Matthew Twenty-Five.
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